Axioms
by hayatin
Summary: Muggle-born Efa Hathaway only wanted to study in peace and graduate quietly. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. With the wizarding world enveloped in a catastrophic war, none would be left unscathed.
1. Chapter 1

_**'Axiom' - **_**a statement or proposition which is regarded as being established, accepted, or self-evidently true.**

**Hello, dear reader, and welcome to Axioms. I originally began writing this for fun after seeing a fun prompt on tumblr for forbidden friendships and romances between purebloods and muggleborns, and I am a sucker for things of that nature. I found, however, that I couldn't stop writing, and here we are. I hope you'll enjoy what started as a whim and grew into something else.**

**Things to note: Some canon plots will remain the same, and some will veer into 'AU' territory, though I won't reveal what just yet. This story is set in the Marauders Era, my personal favorite timeline, and will likely not continue through the book series unless I plan out a sequel. When I was being taught English later in life, we used a variety of books and resources for our ESL classes that sourced both British and American English, so there will probably be some unavoidable vocabulary or spelling discrepancies. I apologize in advance!**

**Please also remember to be kind and cordial in your reviews. I love genuine suggestions and criticism but have little tolerance for blatantly rude or nasty comments. I'm doing this for fun, please remember to be nice!**

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_August, 1977_

Stepping aboard the Hogwarts Express was like taking that first gasp of air after submerging yourself underwater for too long. The sensation was vital, refreshing, and utterly reassuring.

She took a brief moment to revel in the feeling as a group of fourth years bustled past her in a nervous buzz. Summer was over, and she was being thrust back into a world that was so very different from the one she had grown up in. It was almost funny when she thought about it. The world she had grown up in as a child now felt like a secondary home now, and the wizarding world had become a part of her identity, woven into the fabric of her very being.

It hadn't always been that way, though. The young woman who was entering her sixth year had only known she was a witch since her eleventh birthday, and what a surprise that had been.

In fact, she was quite sure she would never forget the flabbergasted look on her father's face when a certain Professor Flitwick had knocked upon their door that morning to explain his daughter's heritage in a great deal of care and sensitivity. Her father had needed many rounds of convincing and proofs before he had agreed to send her off with the same little man a few weeks later, when he had returned to escort the young girl to Diagon Alley and help her with the transition and buying what she needed for her first year.

That had been the day that everything changed for them. Even now, the memory brought a smile to her lips as she surveyed the train car she had just stepped in.

The girl had grown up in Cardiff, speaking Welsh with her father, Charles Hathaway. Nothing about her upbringing had been out of the ordinary. Her father was a tenured professor of mediaeval history at Cardiff University, and she had grown up surrounded and closely enveloped by the world of academia and historical studies.

It came as no surprise to any that she had been sorted into Ravenclaw upon her arrival to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Despite her perfectly normal muggle upbringing, she had always known there was something different about her. It was a subtle intuition, a slightest twinge inside herself that signified that she was odd in a way that the other children around her were not. She and her father had made many silly excuses for the strange things that seemed to happen when she was around or involved, up until the day that Filius Flitwick had arrived, and they had no longer been able to make up any more excuses to try and fool themselves from the reality that she was _different_.

The reality was that Efa Hathaway was a witch, and there was no avoiding it. And now, after another summer spent apart from the magical world, she was back. She was _home_.

The magic of the surrounding area and her fellow witches and wizards seemed to crackle in the air like the muggle radio waves she was accustomed to, the magic nearly tangible instead of audible. She could feel the magical residue aboard the train, and she could sense it as clearly as she could sense the blood flowing through her veins. It pumped through her body, intertwined with her own life force.

Efa Hathaway was back in the magical world, and that was something she took comfort in. Submerging herself into the wizarding world felt like how wrapping oneself up in a large quilt might feel on a chilly winter evening. It felt right, natural, warm.

It was a fine balancing act she played, straddling the magical and muggle world and feeling like a tightrope walker at a circus. Coming back to Hogwarts each year after a summer spent with her adoring muggle father always gave her a feeling akin to whiplash and nothing less.

Efa inhabited two very different worlds, and always seemed to struggle to find the right balance between two societies that had never truly been meant to interact with each other.

Yet here she was, a muggle-born Ravenclaw prefect, returning for her sixth year at a wizarding school. It still felt surreal at times. There had been plenty an occasion where she would wake up over the summer in her perfectly ordinary and non-magical home and think that perhaps it had all been some sort of fantastical dream brought on by an overactive imagination.

The musings would always be broken, sometimes by an owl pecking at the window, or by a simple glance at the moving pictures of her and her two friends that were framed on her bedside table. Little magical objects and out of place things in her home she shared with her father reminded her of her dual-citizenship to the wizarding world.

"Efa, over here!"

Her inner thoughts came to a halt as she swiveled her head to the left, where her longtime friend and fellow housemate, Gwyneth Roberts, was waving at her from a compartment it seemed she had reserved for them.

Efa hurried towards her friend, plopping down on a seat by the door of the compartment with a large grin on her face as she took in the sight of her other companion, Otto Kaiser, who sniffed in disdain at her bell-bottom jeans and flowing blouse.

"Muggle fashions never cease to surprise me." Otto allowed in his thickly accented and nasally tone, lifting a fair blonde brow at her choice of clothing. "You look like a vagabond."

"Hush now, Otto." Reprimanded Gwyn, as she shut the compartment door and took the seat by the window. "I think she looks charming, don't you know this is all the rage in muggle London right now? I read it in one of those things they call a _magazine_ this summer."

"Lovely to see you two as well." Quipped Efa, now used to Otto's nose-in-the-air attitude and Gwyn's fascination with all things muggle after spending so many years as friends. "How were your summers?"

"Abysmal." Groaned Otto, mood shifting to a proper sulk. "We were supposed to spend it summering at the family château in southern France, but with the way things are now my parents thought it best to remain home in Berlin. I believe I mentioned how bored I was in my owls,_ Ja_?"

"Only about two hundred times." Muttered Gwyn, before answering her portion. "Mine was decent, though it was quieter than usual. Thanks for owling me those fashion magazines, by the way. Much better than how dark the Daily Prophet has been lately. How was yours, Effie? How was Sweden?"

Efa smiled as she reflected on her own summer, which seemed as though it had been more enjoyable than that of her two friends.

"It was brilliant, my father even let me help in certain parts of the dig. The weather was quite pleasant as well."

Her father had been asked to oversee an archaeological dig in southern Sweden over the summer, where a mediaeval era tomb of supposed royalty had been unearthed. He had been ecstatic at the offer, and the two had spent the summer months digging around in the dirt and taking field notes. Efa had taken some time for herself to explore the nearby scenery, traipsing through forests and café hoping in the local towns in her free time. All in all, it had been a lovely summer.

She'd sent some fun things by owl for Gwyn, who was forever enchanted with the muggle world, and some tasteful photos and long letters detailing her excursions to Otto, who himself had a love for history, whether it be muggle or magical.

Her summer had been a much-needed break after the stress of the previous year at Hogwarts. The O.W.L.S. and other standardized tests from her fifth year had been a breeze, of course. It was the tension that only seemed to intensify in and out of the school as the year went on that had given her cause for worry.

The Dark Lord and his forces only continued to grow bolder in their attacks and attempts to subdue the public and governments to their will. Efa had been out of the loop for the larger part of the summer, only catching snippets from what her friends sent her via their post.

She had been like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand, except in this instance the ostrich was a witch and the sand was the muggle world.

The train blew a shrill whistle then, giving a small lurch forward as they set off towards their destination. Efa felt her brows furrowing together in confusion. Surely this was not everyone. The train was even emptier than it had been the previous year.

"Less students again this year? The train isn't even close to full." Murmured the prefect to her two friends.

At the mention of the absence of their fellow students, Efa noticed Gwyn shifting uncomfortably in her seat and Otto's eyes darkening. The air in their cabin seemed to shift, and an uncomfortable silence stretched for a few moments before Otto broke it.

"My parents almost forbade me from coming this year too. Things are getting worse." Admitted the young man, his tone taking a more serious note. "Haven't you been keeping up with the Prophet over the summer? A lot happened in the last two months."

Efa frowned. She had not been keeping up with the Daily Prophet, mostly because she had purposefully cancelled her subscription in order not worry her father. The last time he had gotten ahold of one of her issues of the Daily Prophet, one issue that detailed the murders of a supposed family of blood traitors, with the ominous moving picture of the dark mark floating above their home, he'd nearly had a heart attack and asked if this was a common occurrence and if they ought to be worried.

The truth was that such occurances were becoming more and more common, and any sane person ought to be very worried – but she had not said that. She hadn't even said anything remotely close to that. Efa had soothed his worries and told him the wizarding world was very much at peace, and that it had been an isolated incident.

Efa didn't want to consider it lying, per se, but she was keeping as much about the attacks of the Dark Lord and his followers from her father as she could. In her opinion, the less he knew the better it was for him. The young woman also figured he would be safer the less he knew. She was also fully aware that if he figured out what was happening in the wizarding world, there would have been no chance she would have been allowed to return this year. And to Efa, her education at Hogwarts meant more than anything else and was worth the risk of returning.

"I cancelled my subscription so my father wouldn't worry. I figured the wizarding world wouldn't go completely to hell in the two months I would be absent from it." Efa remarked cautiously. "Was I wrong?"

Otto only snorted as Gwyn answered her question.

"Like he said, a lot happened. The Ministry is in complete upheaval at the moment, and there were more murders and raids. I even heard the O'Hara family left the country for the States, and the MacKenzie twins lost their parents in an attack by the Death Eaters. Our old dorm mate from last year, Habiba, her family has moved back to Egypt – I got her owl just yesterday asking me to send her this year's books so she can study on her own."

Efa felt her lips set themselves in a tight line. She had truly assumed that being out of the loop for a short two months wouldn't be anything of consequence, especially since she and her father were so well hidden away in the muggle world, but she was apparently quite wrong in her assumption.

"Things are changing out there." Otto spoke darkly, the ominous statement sending a chill down her spine. "Both of you should lay low this year, considering your blood statuses."

In any other situation, Efa might have scoffed at the remark about her and Gwyn's blood status, but with how seriously the warning had been issued, it was something she could not afford to ignore.

Efa had done well since the beginning not to flaunt her status as a muggle-born witch. Professor McGonagall had given her a warning that she might face certain prejudices because of her heritage, and would have to work harder than most students in order to catch up with those who had been raised in magical households. Efa had worked hard with the help of a few trustworthy friends she had made, friends who didn't care a fig about blood statuses and had helped her learn what she needed to learn in order to blend in.

When the war had begun to get more serious, Gwyn and Otto had even spread a rumor that Efa was a half-blood instead of a muggle-born, and that had given her a level of protection that she was grateful for.

To anybody who knew of Efa Hathaway, it was assumed that her deceased mother had been a witch of a lesser magical bloodline her father a squib. That rumor had allowed her to continue her education without becoming too much of a target to those who were sympathetic to the ideologies of the Dark Lord, and those who had been raised on the idea of blood purity.

Even being the daughter of something as loathsome as a squib was better than being born of muggles in the eyes of many. It wasn't much protection at the end of the day, but it had allowed her to blend in and go largely unnoticed to a certain extent.

"What have you heard, Otto?" Demanded Efa, knowing that whatever Otto might have heard would be well-sourced information.

Otto Kaiser was the heir to one of Germany's elite pureblooded families, one that was known for being well connected. Otto, despite growing up in such high society, was completely unprejudiced about who his friends were. He did not share the same viewpoints about blood purity that most of his family did, and had become Efa and Gwyn's main hub for information regarding what was happening on higher level issues.

"There've been rumors," Otto continued, glancing towards the door to the compartment and lowering his voice to a whisper. The two girls leaned forward, sensing the need for secrecy. "That _You Know Who_ is looking for more followers within the school. My father heard it straight from Hans Rudus, who heard it from Abraxas Malfoy himself."

"Merlin…" Trailed off Gwyn in astonishment, glancing towards the door with wide eyes to ascertain that there were no shadows creeping outside their compartment. "Then it must be true."

"Death Eaters, in the castle? Students?" Whispered Efa, feeling her heart twist uncertainly at the information. "No wonder the train is emptier this year."

"_Ja." _Affirmed Otto. "I'll be watching your backs as best I can, but you two must be cautious. Your family are well-known blood traitors, Gwyn. And Efa, being a muggle-born is essentially on the same level as a maggot for them, you must stick to the story of being a half-blood. You both know what the Death Eaters are doing to muggles and people like you."

Efa sat back, slumping in her seat. As much as she thought the whole notion of blood purity was hogwash, there were many who followed that supremacist idea like it was religion for them. Perhaps it was.

Otto was right. If things were truly getting as bad as her friends had informed her, it would likely serve her best to stay under the radar this year. She would need to attract as little attention to herself as possible, to blend in to the masses as best she could.

The thought of freshly initiated student Death Eaters in the castle was enough to make her positively nauseous. A rumor could only grant her so much protection, after all. If anyone thought to dig around, the information would likely be easy to uncover as false.

So, the trick would be to stick as closely as she could to her made up story and play her role confidently so that nobody thought that she might be hiding anything. That, and continue as she had been for the last five years of her education: quiet, studious, and with her nose in a book. Nobody could become suspicious of Efa Hathaway if they hardly knew she even existed – and that was how she preferred it.

"Maybe I should change into my robes early." Efa sighed, glancing down at her muggle clothing.

It was all too sudden that she no longer felt comfortable in her jeans and flowing top. Perhaps it would be best not to wear any of the muggle clothing she had brought with her for the year, and just stick to her uniform and robes instead.

Most half-bloods had muggle clothing, of course, but given the circumstances she thought it might be safer.

"Probably for the best, love." Gwyn commented sadly. "Maybe you should change in here before your prefect meeting, I'll cast a fogging charm on the windows for you."

The silence was nearly deafening as Efa slipped out of her clothing and into her uniform and robes as soon as Otto had turned his back and the fogging charm had spread across the windows of their compartment. Outside their outer window, the light drizzle had become heavier, and raindrops began to race across the glass as the weather took a turn for the worse the further north they travelled by rail.

"Well?" asked the young witch as she sat back down, now fully dressed in her black school robes, the blue prefect badge shining proudly on her chest. "Do I look witchy enough?"

"The scrunchie gives you away." Gwyn said after a moment of looking her over and focusing in on the large purple scrunchie that held Efa's unruly hair out of her face.

Efa nodded, pulling it from her hair to allow the long brown curls to tumble down her back.

"Better?" She asked uncertainly. This was the first time she had very actively tried to erase all material evidence of her heritage from her person, and she felt uncomfortable with it, despite the fact she knew it was probably for the best. Now was not the time to stick out.

"You look very smart." Gwyn praised with a small smile, though Efa could see the strain on the corners of her lips.

"Well I, for one, would never call that mop you try to pass for hair 'smart', but to each their own." Otto cut in, scoffing at Efa's wild curls before turning his attention to their other female companion. "And you should know better than to show up without having smoothed the wrinkles out of your robes!"

"Oh, stuff it. What are you, the fashion auror? Here to cart me off to Azkaban for a few wrinkles?" Snapped Gwyn, playfully bickering back with the tallest of their trio.

"I'm not an auror, I'm _German_." He sniffed back. "And some of us take pride in our appearances, believe it or not."

"German? Even worse."

"_Mein Gott, _I don't know how I've refrained from hexing you all these years."

Efa felt the troubles in her mind lifting somewhat as she relaxed to the familiar sound of her two friends bickering. It was a familiar sound, and one that took her mind off their ominous discussions from earlier.

Soon enough, the situation had shifted to more normal things. They spoke of required readings for the year, which each of them, being the studious Ravenclaws that they were, had already completed over the summer in the hopes it would give them an edge over their other housemates. They compared their schedules, taking pleasure in the fact that they had at least half of their classes together. They talked and gossiped for a few hours, purposefully steering the conversation to lighter subjects and keeping away from the darker avenues.

It was almost enough to make Efa forget that there was a war going on. Almost.

However hard she tried to forget what was going on by losing herself in petty or academic conversation, there stayed a feeling of heavy foreboding in the air, one that each of them felt very keenly and actively tried to ignore. Before long, Efa bid goodbye to her friends so that she could make her prefect meeting.

She paused for a moment outside a particularly loud compartment on her way towards the rear cart of the train, recognizing the voices immediately and rolling her eyes at some of the crass jokes she overheard from the outside. Spying four shadows inside the compartment and aware that one of the shadows belonged to a fellow prefect who seemed to have lost track of time as well, because Efa herself was already late, she slid the door to the compartment open and poked her head inside.

"Remus, it's time for-"

"What do you want, bookworm?" Interrupted one of the seventh-year boys inside with cool laughter, one she immediately recognized as Sirius Black. "This compartment is for Marauders only. Off you go!"

She ignored him and his little nickname for her completely, much to his disdain. People like Sirius Black and James Potter liked to goad others, and were not used to being left unanswered, and Efa didn't feel like indulging the young man with her attention today.

"It's time for the prefect meeting, Remus, we're already late." Efa bit sharply.

She didn't particularly care for Remus' group of friends, the self-proclaimed 'Marauders of Hogwarts', though she knew they were a packaged deal. Her friendship with Remus had inevitably resulted in a tenuous acquaintanceship with his loud and troublemaking friend group.

Remus Lupin had been one of her first friends at Hogwarts, the sandy-haired youth a kind guide to her in her first year when she had been learning as fast as she could to catch up with everyone else. Remus was also from Wales like her, so she had always felt a particular kinship with him.

Over the years, however, the boy had found his place with his Gryffindor friends. The two remained on friendly terms though, and occasionally studied together when he seemed to have had enough of his friends and their wild dispositions. He was a calmer soul than his friends were, and when he needed respite from the chaos they brought to his life, he would seek out the Ravenclaw girl and her two friends.

"Get on with it then, Moony!" Laughed Sirius, "Go join my prat of a brother and enjoy your time with the bookworm."

Under his breath, James Potter muttered something about 'chasing skirts' and 'alone time', to which the three boys in the compartment laughed at. Efa only wrinkled her nose and continued down the train car. She had heard all their teasing before, and she'd found that the best way to deal with it over the years was to ignore it.

She could ignore a few crass jokes. It wasn't worth making a fuss over in her mind. The majority of the time they let her and her friends be in peace, and she was honestly glad that she didn't have it bad as Severus Snape, who had been the main target of most of their pranks and aggressions. She found that if she stayed out of their business and let them bully and prank as they please, that they largely ignored her – and she hoped to keep it that way. Those boys were trouble, and she preferred to keep her distance.

When Remus caught up to her, she ignored the flush on his cheeks from his friend's joke.

"Your friends are-"

"Gits, I know." He finished her sentence for her with a small sigh. They'd had this conversation several times before.

"I still don't understand why you put up with them. I know you hate how they bully." She returned, casting him a pointed stare.

"They're good lads, at the end of the day. Or, they've gotten better lately, at least." He gave a weak argument in their defense and a small shrug as they passed a cabin of chattering first years. "Especially James. I think he's finally realized he won't win Lilly's interests by taking every opportunity to pounce on Snivellus-"

"Severus." Efa corrected mildly. The Ravenclaw prefect didn't like Severus Snape at all, but even she found the nickname cruel.

"Erm – right. Sorry." He doubled back, biting his lip before continuing. "Anyways, I think James has matured since last year."

"Good for him."

"I mean it, Efa. Even Sirius has gotten better!"

"Good for them, then." She exclaimed with a small laugh, coming to a stop outside the last cabin where the other prefects were waiting. "Let's talk all about the emotional maturity of your friends later, we have a meeting for now."

"How about we don't and say we did?"

"You've got yourself a deal, my friend."

And with that matter behind them, Remus slid the compartment door open and the two of them were met with a fierce glare from Antonius Bennet, the Ravenclaw prefect who was overseeing the meeting.

"You two are late." Antonius stated the obvious as Remus threw himself lazily into the nearest open seat. "Let this be the only time."

Efa muttered a quick apology and sat down quietly next to a male Slytherin prefect, who had not yet met her eyes or acknowledged her entrance as the rest of the compartment had.

"I was just finishing reading off the patrolling pairs for this year. The Headmaster has requested we mix up the pairs instead of having it by houses alone. He felt the old system left room for – _ahem –" _With this he turned a bright shade of red. "-indiscretions."

Efa had to stifle a giggle to keep it from escaping her lips. Antonius was no doubt talking about a pair of Hufflepuff prefects from the previous year who had used the patrolling time as time to snog in the corners of the hallways instead. Needless to say, neither of those students were sporting prefect badges this year.

She hoped that she might be paired with Remus, his company was always welcome to her and she had no doubt that it would make the long hours spent patrolling much more bearable.

She'd been placed on patrols with Antonius the year before, and that had been the most unbearable few hours of her week. Antonius was a stickler for all rules and had quite the pompous attitude. Her housemate could ramble on and on for hours unprovoked, and she had even considered wearing earplugs on her rounds before, just so she wouldn't have to listen to him prattle on about this and that. She doubted he would have noticed as long as she nodded every few minutes.

Her hopes were in vain, however.

"Lupin, you'll be patrolling with Parkinson." Maxine Parkinson shot the boy a nasty sneer, one which Remus shot right back at her. "And Hathaway, you'll be with Black for the year."

Efa couldn't help the frown that spread involuntarily over her face at that news.

There was little that Efa knew about Regulus Black. He was the quiet sort, cool, somewhat haughty and calculative; so very different from his older brother in nearly every way imaginable – except for the haughty attitude, that was one thing they shared.

She knew he did well in his classes, and she often saw him studying in the library. She knew he had made Quidditch captain this year, and that he was an excellent flyer. She realized, of course, that all these facts were well-known by most.

When it came to what she knew of Regulus Black on a personal level, she wasn't even sure she had ever spoken to him. Their paths had not crossed often, and she had the feeling that he was a person who did not like to be bothered. He came across as quiet, diligent, and polite to those who warranted his respect.

One thing she _did_ know about Regulus was the company he kept. Names like Yaxley, Mulciber, Avery, Nott, Dolohov, and others – young men in her year and up that she knew were in her best interest to keep her distance from.

She'd heard the rumors about their families and where their allegiances lay, and she knew that Avery and Mulciber in particular had a nasty streak. It was rumored that those two had been behind a few 'accidents' that had befallen a handful of muggleborn students the year prior, though it had never been proven to be them. Even if they had been caught, it was likely they would not have been expelled because of who they were and who their parents were.

She caught Remus' eye as she felt her stomach twisting into a knot. He was sending her a sympathetic look, knowing that they were in similar situations.

The meeting droned on as they reviewed the rules and responsibilities of their positions, and as they received their patrolling schedules for the year. Just her luck that she was scheduled to patrol with Regulus late in the evenings, when the castle would be fast asleep and the halls empty.

Finally, the meeting concluded. It had gone on quite a long time, which was no surprise to Efa considering it was Antonius Bennet who had been hosting it. In all truthfulness, she ought to have been happy that it had not gone on another two hours.

She and Remus were the first two out, and she waited outside the compartment for Regulus. The young man and the people he hung around might have made her nervous, but she still had responsibilities to uphold as a prefect, and that meant that she would have to speak to him eventually. As much as she wished she could, she doubted she would be able to make it the entire year without speaking to him.

"Black." She called, stepping in front of him before he could continue down the train car. "We should discuss-"

But there was no discussing to be had. He simply brushed past her, knocking her shoulder as he did so and ultimately ignoring her words. His expensive robes billowed after him as he walked with a kind of regal eloquence and pride that she could only gawk at, as if he owned the whole of the Hogwarts Express.

Perhaps he did and Efa just didn't know it. Merlin knew his family was rich enough to afford it.

"Black-" She called again, raising her voice somewhat in case he had not heard her. "Regulus Black!"

He did not turn back to acknowledge her, though she was sure he must have heard her. The Slytherin prefect continued until he had returned to his own compartment, sliding open the door and stepping inside without a second look at the girl who had been calling after him.

He had purposefully ignored her. Whether it had been out of spite or because he might have thought she was so far below him he didn't need to acknowledge her, she didn't know.

"I don't envy you, Effie." Remarked Remus after a few moments, smirking at the look of utter astonishment on his female companion's face. "Sirius was right, he _is_ a prat."

Efa blinked, still shocked at the frigid behavior of the boy she was stuck patrolling the castle with for an entire year.

"You know, I don't think I've ever agreed with Sirius on anything before." She started, her shocked look melting into a scowl. "But as much as it pains me to admit it, he might be right this time."

.

* * *

.

The welcoming feast at Hogwarts was delicious, as it always was. Roasted game, perfectly spiced side dishes, goblets of pumpkin juice and sweet delicacies lined the Ravenclaw table, but Efa was too bothered to really relish in the fine flavors and extravagant dishes.

Her fingers tightened around her silverware as she glanced at Regulus Black once more, who was sitting with his preferred group of terrible friends as they muttered lowly between themselves. Whatever they were discussing, she was sure it wasn't pleasant given the way that Avery was smirking like some sort of maniac.

She was not paying too much attention to Avery, though. Her focus was solely on Regulus, who was oblivious to the fact that his patrolling partner was staring him down from across the great hall with a large frown on her face.

Efa Hathaway was used to being ignored and looked over, she preferred it that way, in fact. She was a quiet sort of girl, who enjoyed the company of a select few friends and her studies in the library. Efa was hardly popular or well-known, and the most that other students knew about her was that she was supposedly the daughter of a squib and a nobody witch, that she got some of the best marks in her year, and that she was absolute rubbish at flying.

But never had she been cast off and ignored in such a way as Regulus Black had dismissed her. He had made her feel like the scum of the earth, and he'd been able to do that without even uttering a single word. She was perturbed by it. She was even more perturbed by the fact that she had allowed it to perturb her in the first place.

"Stop that."

Efa tore her vision from the heir of the Black family to settle upon Otto, who was frowning at her.

"Stop what?" She asked quietly and with feigned innocence, turning back to her half-finished meal in disinterest.

"Stop glaring down the people I told you that you should be avoiding." He hissed unhappily. "Did you forget what I told you in the train? I was serious."

"Who're you starin' at?" Gwyn asked through a mouthful of food, the action earning her a disgusted look from their German friend.

"Nobody." Efa mumbled, stabbing her knife into the quail breast that no longer looked as appetizing as it had when she had first placed it on her plate. "A haughty, pompous, arse of a nobody."

Otto only gave her a withering look as he took a second helping of pudding onto his plate.

"An arse he may be, but you'd better clean up that attitude before our first class tomorrow morning, little miss prefect." Otto advised sternly between bites of pudding. "We've got Advanced Potions with Slytherin and you two would do well to remember what we spoke of earlier."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep a low profile, mind our manners, blah blah blah." Gwyn dismissed with a casual wave of the hand.

"If you get yourself killed this year, I will laugh at your funeral." Grumbled Otto, taking an unhappy swig of his pumpkin juice.

"You won't be laughing, Kaiser." Promised Gwyn with a sweet smile. "If I go down I'll drag you with me."

Efa knew it was only a joke, but for some reason the words rattled her. Perhaps it was because people actually _were_ dying now. It seemed an unsavory thing to joke about, even though she likely would have found humor in it not long ago.

The prefect suddenly became very aware of the many empty spaces at their long table, vacated by students whose families had been too scared to allow them to return this year, and likely for good reason.

If her father had been able to catch any whiff of what was going on in the wizarding world, or if he knew about what the Dark Lord and his followers were doing to people like them, it was highly likely that Efa's spot at the table would also have been vacant this year.

"Nobody is allowed to die this year. Or the next." Huffed Efa, the joke that she might have laughed at once not settling well with her now. "Okay?"

The trio fell into another tense bout of silence, the realities of their current situations once again catching up to them.

Gwyn raised her goblet in a sudden movement, talking the two of them by surprise.

"To surviving our sixth year?"

Efa and Otto shared a wary glance before they raised their goblets as well, the three friends repeating the phrase with hesitant voices. Their words were more solemn than they might have intended when they spoke.

"To surviving our sixth year."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - A huge thank you to all who reviewed the first chapter! I'll be responding to reviews at the bottom, so make sure to look for them.**

**In regards to the character of Regulus Black, I'm really looking forward to developing on it, especially given that he is so underdeveloped in the series. All we know from what JKR has stated and the books is that he was arrogant and haughty, but also extremely selfless and devoted - even if it was originally to the wrong ideas. I want to write that transformation from haughty pureblood Death Eater to his selfless sacrifice and am excited to take it on. Let me know what you think!**

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_August, 1977_

Efa had fallen in love with the Ravenclaw common room from the first moment she set eyes upon it.

The soft and gauzy blue and bronze silks that hung from the ceiling, the enchanted dome above their heads where the magical constellations twinkled, the wide windows with lovely views of the grounds, and the cozy reading nooks and many shelves of books that lined the walls made the space seem more like heaven than anything tangible.

She had made a habit of waking early over her years of attending Hogwarts, just so she could read or study in the soft light of a rising sun as the swirling constellations twinkled above her. It was peaceful, and Efa relished every second she spent in the blissful and quiet solitude before the rest of her housemates eventually came down the stairs.

Efa was a creature of habit, and her morning ritual was one she had certainly not skipped out on before her first day back at school began.

The rays of the sun had hardly begun to peek over the trees of the forbidden forest as Efa flipped another page in her new potions textbook. Her course syllabi sat spread around her on the desk she had stationed herself at, and she was reading up on what to expect from today's lessons so that she would be thoroughly prepared.

It seemed that Professor Slughorn was wasting no time jumping straight into things. His syllabus read that they would be brewing a draught for the treatment of dragon burns, an advanced potion that she had not brewed before. Though, she supposed she ought to have expected a test on the first day – it was advanced potions after all, it was likely that this assignment on the first day would be used as a way to weed out those who would not be capable of keeping up with the advanced coursework. So, Efa read every step, committing them to memory so that she would be prepared.

Efa Hathaway did not fail tests, nor did she commonly make academic mistakes, and this would not be the year she started. She was happy to say that she made plenty of mistakes in other fields, but not so in academics, and that was the field she prized most.

After she felt confident in her knowledge of the potion, and after reading through the first two chapters of her new book for Herbology class later in the day, she felt sufficiently prepared. Gathering up her books and loose pieces of parchment, she crept back up the stairs to the girl's dormitory and quietly deposited her books onto her bed before grabbing her school robes and making her way to the lavatory.

She made quick work of her morning hygienic routine as other girls from the dormitory slowly filtered in and chattered sleepily amongst themselves as they too got ready for the first day of school.

She assessed her reflection as she brushed her teeth, giving a quick wave to a bleary-eyed Gwyn who had stumbled in looking more like a zombie than a young woman in that moment. Gwyn had never been a morning person and likely never would be.

Efa's hair was messy this morning after a night of tossing and turning, and there were quite a few instances where she had to give her comb a proper yank to get it through her long, tangled locks. Brown eyes framed by dark lashes looked bright and chipper compared to a few other students who looked as though they were having a hard time waking up.

Her petite frame was soon covered by her school robes, the dark color of the loose robes complimenting the slightest hint of a tan she had picked up after so many hours spent outside and under the sun, digging around in the dirt with her father over the course of her summer.

She played around with her hair a bit, though the dark curls didn't seem to want to stay in the braid she was attempting to wind them in. It was almost as if they had a mind of their own.

"Here," muttered Gwyn sleepily, shoving a pale blue ribbon into Efa's face. "Use one of these. I bought a package of enchanted ribbons from Madame Hucklebiddie's this summer."

"Thanks, Gwyn." Efa smiled as she took the sentient ribbon from her. "You're the best, you know that?"

"And don't you forget it."

The ribbon wiggled like a worm in her hand as Efa brought the enchanted fabric up to her curls. She'd hardly let go of the fabric before it shot from her grasp, weaving itself through her hair and styling it without any help from the brunette witch whatsoever.

The result was a perfectly styled half-up, half-down ensemble that kept the majority of her curls from her face, aside from a few wispy strands that could not be swept back. The rest of the unruly hair tumbled down her back behind her shoulders, out of her way but still giving a soft and feminine look that Efa found she liked.

Gwyn had also used one of the ribbons to secure her sleek auburn hair into a tight plaited bun at the nape of her neck.

"That can't be comfortable." Efa commented at seeing how tightly her friend had coiled her hair with the enchanted ribbon.

"It isn't." Gwyn affirmed, wiping water from her freshly washed face and surveying her reflection in the mirror. "But I've got Quidditch try-outs today and I need it to hold. You'll come cheer me on, won't you? I'm sure I'll make chaser this year now that Marianne Capulet's graduated."

"Of course I will, you don't have to ask."

"Wonderful!" Breathed the auburn-haired witch happily as they left the bathroom and gathered their things. "To breakfast?"

"To breakfast." She agreed.

They joined Otto at the bottom of the tower, the three of them looping their arms through each other's and occasionally stopping to give a confused first year directions as they made their way to the great hall. Breakfast was a quick affair, and Efa found that she was only able to stomach a slice and a half of buttered toast with preserves before her nerves kicked in. The first day back at school always came with nerves, and she was bubbling with anticipation as she thought of all the subjects she was taking this year.

She had Advanced Double Potions three times a week in the mornings, Advanced Herbology once a week, Advanced Arithmancy once a week, Defence Against the Dark Arts twice a week, and Alchemy as an elective twice a week.

All in all, it was a full schedule. She was sure to be busy, especially since this was the year they would begin studying for their N.E.W.T.S.. Efa also supposed that she ought to factor in that she had paid the twelve-galleon fee to take apparition lessons after hours. Add her prefect duties on top of that and she would be one busy witch.

She was certain to be stretched thin, but she could worry about that later. For now, she would focus on a double period of Advanced Potions.

Efa had always liked Potions class. It was one of her best subjects so far, and she enjoyed it immensely. Potions was, in her opinion, a lot like cooking or baking, except with much higher stakes and some of the strangest ingredients she had ever come across. Efa was meticulous by nature, and that served her well in brewing potions, which were known to be very finicky to master.

The trio split after a short breakfast, with Gwyn on her way to Transfiguration and Efa and Otto on to Potions.

The dungeons were just as she remembered them, dark and dreary. The air was humid and musty, and the occasional 'plop' of dripping of water could be heard if one strained their ears. Their footsteps echoed down the stone corridor of the dungeons.

Slughorn was quick to usher them in as they stepped over the threshold and into his classroom. Efa took a seat off to the side of a sturdy looking cauldron with Otto and the two Ravenclaws were quick to pull out their books, ready for a class that had yet to begin. Efa kept her nose in her book as she heard the arrival of the other students that they would be sharing the time with.

"Settle down, class!" Called Slughorn excitedly as he bustled about the classroom. It was not hard to see that he was happy to see all their faces there, looking with interest between them and spending a little extra time surveying the sons and daughters of the more well-known families of the wizarding world. "Now, as you all know, this class is extremely advanced. Those who fail to keep up with the curricula will not be able to continue with it. As such, I've devised a bit of a test, if you will, to make sure you are all up for the task!"

Efa smiled to herself, realizing that her assumption from earlier that morning had been correct: it was a weed-out test. Slughorn himself seemed positively giddy at the idea.

It was no secret he preferred to invest his time only in those who he deemed worthy of it – which was either those with a good family name, or those who exceeded his expectations through hard work. Efa was a member of the latter group, and she intended to exceed his expectations.

She wouldn't call herself a teacher's pet, per se…just a tad bit competitive when it came to fields of academic studies.

It couldn't be helped. She'd had to work herself to the bone to gain an edge on those who had started school coming from magical families. Many of the students from pureblooded families often started their first year after a youth filled with private tutoring as well. She was immensely proud of the fact that she had still managed to best many of those students, despite coming into her education with such a disadvantage.

"I'll be pairing you with partners for this test. Keep in mind that your success will come from good teamwork! If you fail this portion, your partner will also fail, so work hard together." The man wheezed as he used his wand to procure a piece of parchment and began calling out names.

"Bartemius Crouch and Otto Kaiser." Otto wrinkled his nose in distaste but did not protest, gathering his books with a frown to take a seat next to his assigned partner.

"Noor Al-Khatani and Theodore Avery."

"Emmaline Robinson and Rhiannon Llewelyn."

"Evan Rosier and Maxine Parkinson."

"Severus Snape and Salvatore Rossi."

The names continued to be called, and Efa waited patiently until hers was finally voiced.

"Efa Hathaway and Regulus Black."

Efa froze, praying that she had misheard the older man. It seemed as though her luck this year was already running out, and it was only the first day.

"Professor, I-" She gave a weak protest, but a very jolly looking Slughorn waved it off immediately.

"No arguments. Off you go, dear!"

She stood obediently, collecting her things with a frown. She scanned the room until her eyes fell on Regulus Black, who was now looking at her, his gaze expressing his boredom and disinterest in her. Efa felt her fingers gripping her books so tightly she was sure her knuckles must have gone white. Her face, however, remained carefully steeled.

This boy had nerve to him, he did. The memory of being so callously brushed off on the train, as if even acknowledging her had been some sort of existential burden to him was still fresh on her mind.

But Efa would say nothing in protest. She never did.

It was better that way, and she figured silence would be preferable to any attempts at conversation. He had made it quite clear on the train that he would not be conversing with her, and that was perfectly agreeable to her.

She took a seat by his cauldron and opened her book, not bothering to greet the pureblood at her side. The brunette witch didn't need to glance his way to feel the weight of his heavy gaze upon her, chilled and calculative.

Efa only pulled out the small paring knife from the drawer of supplies at the desk and began to chop the Needlebart root in exactly one quarter bits, as per the instructions she had memorized earlier that morning. She heard him clear his throat, perhaps as an attempt to catch her attention, but she only continued, dropping the roots into the cauldron and giving the bubbling liquid seven slow counter-clockwise stirs, and then three in the opposite direction.

"Perhaps, Miss Hathaway, you might benefit from reading the instructions." He drawled, voice practically dripping in condescension in a way that did not sit well with the young witch. "Especially seeing as our combined success hinges on the final outcome."

Efa ignored him, though it was less out of spite and more out of an introverted and easily flustered nature.

His presence was intimidating to her, and she found that she could not bring the sassy rhetoric of her mind to her tongue, which was likely a good thing. She grabbed the mortar and pestle next, dropping three yellow snail shells into the base to begin to grind them into a fine powder. The shells crunched loudly under the force she exerted.

"I'm speaking to you." He said next, voice dropping. She nearly flinched at the tone and hummed softly as a response to let him know that she had heard him. Hopefully, that would be enough.

She reached for the powdered shells, grabbing a small pinch and extending her hand back towards the cauldron. Regulus Black got there first, however, and his hand clamped around her wrist, pulling it back down with a harsh tug. His grip was strong, like iron around her bones, and she knew it would likely bruise.

She finally met his eyes, startled brown gaze meeting a stormy grey.

"I said," He repeated, leaning in closer and tightening his grip, "that I am speaking to you. I do not appreciate whatever game you're playing at, Miss Hathaway."

"I'm not playing any games." She refuted quietly with a frown, feeling like she might begin to shrink under his harsh gaze.

There were moments that came every now and again where she wished that she had some of that famed Gryffindor courage. But alas, it was not so. Courage was a field she often found herself lacking in.

She attempted to yank her hand from his grasp, but his grip only tightened further.

"I intend to pass this test. If you're sabotaging this draught so we will both fail for something as petty as my behavior towards you on the train, then I-"

Did he truly believe her to be so vindictive? Efa failed to see how he could have come to such a conclusion if they had never had a proper introduction or conversation. She bristled at the insinuation that he had made, the accusation that she was purposefully trying to fail them both as some sort of revenge for being slighted.

"I'm not sabotaging anything!" Efa interrupted in an unhappy hiss, her eyes narrowing. "I memorized the steps and ingredients this morning. I intend to pass as well, so you can get your hands _off_ of me."

She yanked again, and this time he released her wrist. From across the room, she locked gazes with Otto, who was vigorously crushing his snail shells with a bit too much force and a murderous look in his eyes, no doubt having witnessed what had just transpired between Efa and Regulus.

Regulus assessed at her a long moment, as if attempting to discern if her words held truth to them or not. He conceded after a few seconds of scrutiny, though he did not apologize.

"If you are lying and we fail, I will make sure you regret it." Was all he said, a final warning.

"We _won't_."

"See to it that we don't."

Though, after such an interaction with the young man at her side, she would have been lying if she said his accusation about ruining their potion was beginning to sound tempting. A small part of her even believed it would serve him right.

It would only take a dash or two of powdered worm entrails. That would be enough to engulf their entire cauldron and surrounding area in flames and it would certainly be enough to have them both fail their assignment and be kicked out of the advanced class.

Unfortunately, her own desire for academic success combined with an innate and strong sense of self-preservation prohibited her from doing so. Instead, she fantasized about it, and that was enough for her. In her daydreams, where she had more gall and bravery, the imaginary cauldron fire burnt off his eyebrows and left him looking thoroughly ridiculous.

They did not speak again after that, unless absolutely necessary. The two prefects fell into a simple rhythm, taking turns stirring the potion or preparing and adding ingredients, a sort of silent and tense understanding between each other as time went on. Neither wished to waste words on the other, and both were perfectly amenable to that fact.

Efa consciously made a point not to rub at her sore wrist, even though it throbbed. In some way, she felt that showing any sign of weakness in front of Regulus Black would be something akin to losing to him, and Efa was nothing if not competitive.

After what felt like a lifetime, they had reached the final step. Regulus added four drops of dragon tear and Efa gave the potion one last stir. The liquid turned a pleasant sage color, with a nice aroma to match as it thickened immediately, now resembling more of a paste than a liquid. It was perfect, exactly as the book had described it ought to look.

Slughorn gushed over it, of course, as he did with most of the purebloods who made a potion even remotely passable.

"Absolutely marvelous end results, as expected of any Black in my classroom. Always been some of my best students, they have." He gave Regulus a harsh clap on the back that the young man looked somewhat startled by. "And of course, with Miss Hathaway's help, you two were bound to succeed. I'll look forward to seeing you both again this year for the Slug Club, yes?"

"Of course, Professor. It would be an honour." Answered Regulus, the image of the well-mannered and thoroughly groomed young man that Slughorn apparently saw him as. Efa could have laughed at the act.

The Ravenclaw prefect only gave a slight nod to the invitation, which made the older man pleased to see.

"I'll make sure to pair the two of you together for the year, I'm sure you two will do quite well if today's results were anything to judge by." He went on breezily, not registering the look of horror that crossed Efa's features.

She shot up from her seat in an instance, nearly toppling the cauldron and the steaming ingredients to the floor in her awkward haste.

Slughorn took notice of her then, his large and unkempt brows furrowing together on his face. The classroom quieted somewhat, and she glanced around at the many pairs of eyes that had landed on her after such an abrupt movement.

Her lungs constricted tightly in nervous apprehension. She had not meant to cause a scene or draw unnecessary attention.

"Does that displease you, Miss Hathaway? You are both some of my best students, second only to Severus of course. Remember that in this class you are graded not individually, but as a team. I've no doubt that you two will come in first for your N.E.W.T.S. if paired together!" He coughed then, looking somewhat sheepish. "And if you two do well, it will of course reflect well on myself…"

"I – well, no – it's just that-" She started frantically with heated cheeks, but was interrupted by Regulus himself, who cut in swiftly and in a firm tone.

"There's no problem here, Professor. Miss Hathaway and I worked very well together today, actually. I'm sure you're right in your assumption that we will make excellent partners."

"Very good, my boy! I am glad to hear it. I'll see you both on Wednesday, then."

Efa felt jittery as she collected her books and shoved them into her bag. She could still feel Regulus' gaze boring down on her as she stood and turned quickly towards the door. The sound of his footsteps indicated he was not too far behind her. She kept her gaze glued to the ground as she all but dashed from the classroom, her robes swishing around her ankles.

Otto was waiting outside and was quick to descend upon her with all the characteristics of a mother hen.

"Let me see it." He demanded as soon as he had stepped next to her.

"It's fine, Otto. Let's just go."

"_Nein, _it is not fine." He argued, catching her arm and rolling up her sleeve to reveal the rapidly bruising wrist. His eyes narrowed onto the darkening marks with a distinct look of displeasure as he tsked to himself. "Look at this, the great English brute left a mark."

It was then that the 'great English brute' himself exited the classroom to join them in the dungeon's corridor. His eyes flickered to the pair, and then to Efa's wrist. He at least had the gumption to look somewhat startled at seeing the discoloration there, and it dawned upon Efa then that perhaps he had not realized the strength of his grasp earlier.

Before Regulus could say anything, and before Otto could send a jinx flying his way, Efa rolled her sleeve back down and tugged firmly on her friend's arm. She wanted to leave as quickly as possible, which, much to her relief, Otto seemed to sense.

They continued ahead, leaving Regulus Black to his own devices. He did not call after them, nor did he follow, and for that Efa was grateful.

"If he ever pulls anything like that again, I'll hex him into the next century." Otto snarked. "And I'm a pureblood, so I can get away with it. If anybody bothers you or Gwyn, just leave them to me, _verstehst du?"_

"What?"

"Do you understand, is what I meant to say." He corrected, realizing that Efa had not caught the latter part of his statement.

"I'm not sure hexing a pureblood on my behalf would be best." Efa offered mildly. "A _certain somebody_ told Gwyn and I to lay low this year, if you'll recall."

"Precisely." Agreed Otto smugly. "And that suggestion does not apply to him. That _certain somebody _could get away with it because he is the son and heir of Friedrich Kaiser! They wouldn't risk offending my father, these English _schwein."_

"Careful, oh great son and heir of Friedrich Kaiser, your hubris is showing." Laughed Efa half-heartedly, though it was clear Otto was not amused.

Truthfully, Efa was happy to have Otto Kaiser as a friend. He was one of the most loyal and doting people she had ever met, even if he pretended not to be and constantly had his nose stuck up in the air.

He was always looking out for her and Gwyn, as well as their other housemates who were having a tough time. Otto was usually one of the first to intervene if he saw that someone was being bullied or threatened due to their blood status, skin colour, accent, or just about anything one could think of. If he could not intervene on their behalf, then he would extract some form of intricate revenge on their harasser that he made very difficult to be traced back to him.

His parents were another story, however. She had heard from Gwyn and even Otto himself that they were some of the most well-known pureblood supremacists on the European continent. Otto loathed returning home for breaks, he could not stand to listen to his parents and their ideologies.

"I mean it, Effie." He muttered angrily. "You and Gwyn are the only real family to me. I don't know what I would do without you two. So if that means I need to hex Black's eyeballs into his stomach, then so be it."

"Please don't hex his eyes into his stomach. I have to work with him all year, and I don't want to be on his bad side. You've seen the company he keeps, haven't you?"

"_Ja." _Grumbled the tall and gangly German teen with a sneer. "I've seen them. Those boys are trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them have already taken the Mark."

Her lips pressed themselves into a thin line. It was something she preferred not to think about, for it was indeed a harrowing thought. She couldn't help the shudder that crawled its way rapidly up her spine as she considered that, perhaps, some of the young men she had just come from sharing a classroom with would no doubt be joining forces with the Dark Lord just as soon as graduation came.

"Can we talk about something else?" Asked the brunette quietly, grip increasing subconsciously on her friend's forearm. "You'll come watch Gwyn's tryouts with me, won't you?"

"Of course I'm coming." Agreed Otto, as they started up a staircase and paused near the top as it began to move directions to another platform that connected to the second-floor hallway. "Yes, let's speak of something else."

A beat of silence passed between them before a feral grin spread over Otto's face and he eyed Efa out of his peripherals. When he spoke, he brought his voice down to just a whisper.

"I broke into the broom closet this morning and charmed Marnie Hannigan's broom so that it would lag today during tryouts."

"Otto, you didn't!" Efa sucked in a scandalized breath that was laced with amusement. "That's against the rules."

"I heard Marnie was trying out for chaser too, and I haven't forgotten the fact that she called Gwyn a slut last year for kissing David Kim. Gwyn deserves the position more than she does."

"If Gwyn finds out she'll ring your neck."

"Who's going to tell her?" Otto baited, grinning triumphantly when Efa did not answer. The witch could only shake her head, because she knew he was right.

She would not say anything. She never did.

.

* * *

.

There was nothing better than the feeling of freshly turned soil in her bare fingers. The earthy smell in the greenhouses was soft, comforting, and peaceful. It reminded her of the garden she had kept with her father in Cardiff.

That had been one of their shared hobbies, granted she was able to pull him away from his notes and studies long enough. Zucchini in the summer, pumpkins and other gourdes in the fall, potatoes in the winter – they planted it all. Or at least, what could grow in their climate and terrain given the fact they did not have a greenhouse of their own, just a large raised garden bed they shared with the neighbours.

Still, the smell and feel of the soil as she dug around for the roots that Professor Sprout had requested of them ignited a feeling of homey nostalgia that set her heart at peace after her nerve-wracking Potions class.

Or at least, it might have been peaceful had her partner for the day not been Antonius Bennet.

" – and then Gilderoy told me, do you want to know what he said? You won't believe it –"

"Mhmm?" Efa replied noncommittally, though it was enough for Bennett, who launched back into some long-winded story he was telling that she was not truly paying any attention to.

Efa plunged her forearm further into the dirt, feeling around for the roots before slowing her movements and returning to her waiting game once more.

They had been tasked to collect rhoobin root, a type of slender root that travelled like a worm through the dirt instead of staying still like most normal roots did.

They were tricky little buggers, related to the plant known as Dittany, but grew underground and were quite hard to capture. They moved like lightning through the dirt, and the trick was to keep your fingers still until you felt one brush against the warmth of your fingers or palm and then attempt to ensnare it.

" – and as you know, my father is working for the Ministry now, and you'll be quite pleased to hear, I'm sure, that he's donated a few thousand galleons to the restoration of the historical books in Bulgaria's magical library of –"

"How nice." She replied offhandedly, frowning when she made a grab for one of the roots, only to have it slither right out of her fingers.

As she tuned out Antonius' droning, she wondered what her father was up to at the moment.

Perhaps he was wrapping up one of his lectures, or maybe he was locked away in his office, or he might even be spending time in the archaeology lab, where a lovely widower and colleague of her father's always seemed to make excuses to show Charles Hathaway her latest finds from her expeditions.

Priya Singh, if she remembered the archaeology professor's name correctly. A kind and fascinating woman from Manchester. Maybe this year would be the year her father would pluck up the courage to ask his pretty colleague for a date, or even just a cuppa. She sighed as she thought about life back at home in Cardiff, and how very slow and different it was.

She missed the weather, the scent of the sea, the diversity and charm of the city, and her father's comforting presence.

Efa loved her education at Hogwarts, as well as her year spent amongst friends, magic, and intriguing lessons in the old castle, but she could not deny that she often felt homesick for her small home and her father's company.

The young Welsh witch had no complaints with her childhood, nor any with her father. She felt that she had been very fortunate. She'd had a loving father and a happy youth that she was grateful for, despite the absence of a mother figure. Efa hadn't had many friends growing up, it was likely that the other children had also realized there was something a bit _off_ with Efa Hathaway, but she had never minded. Her father and her books had been enough for the girl to be contented with.

" – and even myself, I couldn't _believe_ the way the patrols were scheduled for this year. Though I can't say I mind too much, as unprecedented as it is. Lorena Gonzalez is a charming girl, I have no complaints about my partner for the year, though I must say I shall miss our enchanting conversations – "

"Me too." Efa lied quietly, grinning triumphantly when she finally managed to snag one of the roots and pull it from the dirt.

Antonius prattled on as she carefully washed it off and placed it into the wicker basket with the others, the roots now stagnant and unmoving since they had been pulled from their habitat.

" – and you with Regulus Black, I've heard he's a very cordial young man. I'm sure you know he's recently been named the heir after his older brother was disinherited? Probably for the best knowing how the older one is always in some sort of trouble, I doubt he would have brought anything good to their family name. If _I'd_ ever behaved in such a way, why, my father would have – "

"Is that so?" Efa had to fight to keep her tone from bordering disinterest.

She'd had enough of Regulus Black for one day. She didn't want to hear another word about him.

Efa had heard from Remus the year prior, of course, that Sirius had thrown off the cloak of his heritage and left his family, leaving his younger brother to take up the position of the family heir. Who hadn't heard of that?

That bit of gossip had even made headlines in the papers weeks later. She recalled the dramatic title to mind in amusement; "_Tragic Twist of Fate: Eldest Son and Heir of Noble House Black Disinherited!"_. That had been the talk of the magical world for some time, and the attention had only served to inflate the ego of the disinherited Black even further than it already was.

Knowing Sirius, she would not have been surprised if he was proud to have made the headlines – perhaps he even had that article framed on his new bedroom wall. From what she understood, Sirius was now living with the Potter family and living free from his family's influence and expectations, and was probably better off that way.

From an outsider's vantage point, it looked as though it had worked out for the best. Sirius was free of what he perceived as a burden, and Regulus, the one who seemingly better embodied his family's noble history and ideologies, would be the one to inherit it.

But things were hardly ever that simple when family matters were involved, especially families of that importance and caliber. Efa was certain that their story was one with many nuances, traumas, and complicated layers.

She was also quite sure that their family's strife and story was none of her business whatsoever, nor did she want it to be so. Therefore, she tuned out Antonius as he kept chattering on about the Black family and other families that compromised the "Sacred Twenty-Eight". She cared little for their families and their complicated relationships.

She did not envy any of those pure-blooded families and their wild politics and obscene expectations for their children. Efa wouldn't have traded her simple life with her father for anything, not even a notable surname and all the golden galleons she could have wished for. None of it was worth it, at least not to her.

Dusting off the dirt from her hands, she stood and gathered the wicker basket.

"I'm going to give these to Professor Sprout, we have enough now." Efa relayed, not looking up at her housemate as she turned and began to head towards the front of the greenhouse. "Do save the rest of that story for Wednesday, though."

"Of course, Hathaway! Since you insist." Responded Bennett happily.

Efa was one of Antonius Bennett's preferred conversation partners because…well…she didn't actually converse.

After washing her hands off in the sink on the side of the greenhouse, she started back up towards the castle, noting that she was likely going to be late for Gwyn's quidditch try-outs if she did not speed her pace. Her walk turned to a quick trot as she made her way towards the quidditch pitch and met up with Otto, who had made an enchanted banner that flashed different encouraging messages for their friend, the message changing words and color every few seconds.

They cheered jovially as Gwyn sped up and down the pitch on the refurbished Comet she had bought over the summer, flying circles around Marnie Hannigan, who could only sputter as her broom did not seem to want to respond to her edging it to go faster. Efa and Otto could hardly hold back their laughter at the enraged look on their housemate's face when Gwyn scored goal after goal.

Perhaps it was breaking the rules, but Efa supposed she could turn a blind eye, especially after seeing how joyful Gwyn's face was when she received her spot on the team at the end.

As much as Efa preferred to play by the rules, she could not find it within herself to feel the least bit sorry for Marnie Hannigan. The girl was a snob, one who had made fun of many of the girls in their dormitory for years. The brunette witch even felt somewhat smug as she watched Marnie storm off the field at the end.

Later that evening, after dinner and after the initial excitement of the first day had died down, Efa and Gwyn laid in their beds within the Ravenclaw girl's dormitory, whispering to each other about their days and hopes for the school year until neither could keep their eyes open any longer.

All in all, Efa supposed it hadn't been too terrible a day, though she could not shake the feeling that things would soon be changing in and about the castle.

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* * *

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**Reviews!**

**LoveFiction2019 - **I totally agree with you that there are not enough Regulus fics out there, or at least not enough where he's not just a side character. Most of what I've read brush him off as a side character or unimportant character, save for a few. If you haven't read them already, Vivicendium and The Soldier were both very good Reg fics :)

**Guest (T) - **Thank you! I'm glad to see people migrating here from my other stories. I hope it lives up to expectation!

**Scars from the sun - **That is music to my ears because I was crazy nervous to tackle the Harry Potter universe. I hope I can do the complexities of this world justice!

**FelineJ07 - **I'm so happy you found your way here from Paradise Found! I've so enjoyed writing Kyohei and Kimari, but I know I can't take the same tone with Efa and Regulus that I have with them for sure, haha. In all honesty I am SO EXCITED to write Regulus because we know he goes from blood supremacist death eater to betraying everything he thought he believed in - and I want his relationship with Efa to be part of that catalyst. And thanks for the wartime writing compliment, that's part of the reason I chose the Marauders era actually.

**Wikked - **Thank you for saying so, I hope I can keep the momentum up. The beginning of the story is always the hardest to write for all the reasons you mentioned so I'm glad it turned out alright!


	3. Chapter 3

_September, 1977_

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"In and out, Effie, in and out."

Efa complied with Gwyn's command, forcing a breath of air through her constricted lungs as the trio of Ravenclaw sixth years sat huddled on a plush couch by the fire place.

The anxious prefect was sandwiched between her two friends as they shared their warmth under an old patchwork quilt of hers, both of whom had both donned their pajamas as it was already fairly late in the evening. The Ravenclaw tower was normally drafty in the evenings, but they had grown accustomed to it, and always made sure to pack plenty of blankets and slippers in their trunks for evenings such as this one.

There were other students scattered about the common room as well. Marnie Hannigan was gossiping on one of the bench seats by the window, Aditya Chaudhary was tutoring a first year at a desk in the corner, Augustus Cornwall lounged lazily in a large armchair nearby with a heavy looking volume of wizarding history, and a group of second years played a quiet game of wizarding chess on the floor by the fire place.

All in all, a cozy and picturesque evening inside the tower where their common room overlooked the school grounds.

"It won't be that bad, I'm sure of it." Soothed Gwyn, scooting a little closer to Efa under the quilt in an attempt to reassure her. "Tell her, Otto."

Otto only harrumphed at Gwyn, answering in a manner that was very assured of his words.

"It won't be bad, because Black will have me to deal with if he so much as looks at you the wrong way."

Efa shrunk further into the couch, lifting the quilt up to her nose and wishing she could just stay like that for the rest of the evening. The common room was warm and inviting, her company was pleasant, and the wizarding radio was playing a soft and mellow song that she enjoyed. She did not want to leave.

Alas, she had duties to attend to. In less than thirty minutes, she was to meet Regulus Black at the entrance of the great hall so that they could begin their first patrol together.

Prefect patrols were divided so that there were always a pair of fifth, sixth, or seventh year students patrolling most times of the day and night. Her patrols with Regulus were intended to start at ten in the evening and finish in the early hours of the morning on Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays.

Today was Thursday, and it would be her first patrol with him. She was not looking forward to it.

Over their first week of being potions partners, and after their initial unpleasant interactions, they had hardly spoken to each other unless it was to say something along the lines of 'now add three drops of wobartwinny', or 'please pass me the pestle'.

He retained his cool and haughty attitude and she retained her silence and brooding. She supposed it was probably better that way, but it didn't make her feel any more at ease about the idea of spending so much time alone with him patrolling the castle at night. At least in their class together it was in a public environment and with a professor nearby.

She highly doubted Regulus would overstep his bounds or try anything, especially since most students believed the rumor that she was a half-blood, but she still couldn't help feeling nervous.

Tonight, it would just be the two of them and the occasional ghost. It would be awkward and uncomfortable, and she didn't need a crystal ball to make that prediction.

Oh, how she wanted to just change into her pajamas as well and stay cuddled up on the couch by the fire, chatting with her friends until she dozed off. That would have been much preferable to what she knew she would soon be facing.

"I should go." Sulked the young witch, lips turning down in misery. "The sooner I get it over with the better."

"That's the spirit!" Chimed Gwyn, pulling the blanket to the side so Efa could rise from the couch.

She stole a sip of Otto's tea before she left, casting one last forlorn glance at her two friends before stepping out of the common room's entrance and beginning her descent down the tall tower's spiral staircase.

The castle always had an eerie look to it at night. The paintings still moved around in the dark, the strange noises that came from different parts of the castle echoed in the empty halls, shadows seemed to dance in the corners of her eyes, and she was well aware that Peeves had a nasty habit of terrorizing prefects who were unlucky enough to get the night shifts for patrols.

Come to think of it, she had yet to see the horrid poltergeist this week, which she felt slightly apprehensive about.

Efa pulled her robes tighter around her body as a cool draft picked up in the corridor. Autumn was upon them, and it generally got much colder earlier in the Scottish highlands the castle was built upon than it did in Wales.

Rounding a corner in the dark, she spied him immediately, waiting for her outside the entrance to the great hall. Efa rolled her shoulders back as she approached, puffing her chest out in an attempt to feign the confidence that she certainly did not possess in that moment. Calm, cool, and collected – that was the image she wanted to convey.

She could do this.

That line became her mental mantra as she approached the dark figure who was waiting her arrival at their designated meeting spot. Grey gaze met brown, and Efa felt her feet subconsciously dragging as she got closer to him, her nerves begging her to turn and bolt while she still had a chance.

Regulus Black looked even more intimidating in the dark. His sharp aristocratic facial features were highly pronounced in the shadows, making the shadows on his face all the more severe. The billowing black robes, glossy black hair, and piercing gaze made him look every part the hawk staring down its prey from a perch high above.

Everything about his posture and presence demanded attention. She felt as though he could see right through her, and it in no way went unnoticed by the female prefect that he stood much taller than she did, the height and broad shoulders seeming to dwarf her own petite frame by comparison.

On second thought, maybe she couldn't do this.

It was too late to turn back now, though. This thought the young woman lamented unhappily as she came to a stop in front of him. He assessed her carefully, eyes distant and seemingly void of emotion.

"Good evening, Miss Hathaway." Said her patrolling partner finally, voice echoing in the empty corridor.

"Hi." She bleated in a flustered response, instantly kicking herself mentally for the unceremonious response to such a regal greeting.

"I assume you've read over our schedule and which areas of the castle we have been instructed to patrol?" Demanded the Slytherin prefect, peering down the bridge of his nose at the girl with the messy curls tied back in a blue ribbon.

"Yes." Came her short answer, because she felt there was nothing else that needed to be said in answer to that question. Or rather, there wasn't much else she could manage to force past her lips.

He paused again, this time seeming to falter, which struck Efa as curious. The Black heir gave the impression that he exuded confidence in most scenarios she had ever seen him in, with a haughty and composed exterior and an aloof personality. She'd hardly heard him speak before, which gave him a quiet and brooding image in her mind. Efa did not know him well at all, but she did not believe him to be the sort of person who often faltered or seemed unsure of themselves.

His gaze drifted down to her wrist, and the subtle brushing of his cloak against the floor indicated that he had shifted his weight between his feet.

The young man cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly before raising his eyes back to hers.

"It has come to my attention that I was rather rough in my demeanor and actions during our first class together. I would like to apolo-" He cut himself off sharply, looking as if he had suddenly remembered something important. When he continued, his tone was lofty and cold. "I used more force than necessary, and it was unbecoming of somebody in my station."

Efa wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

It had sounded for a moment as if he might apologize before he had backtracked and rephrased his wording. It was clear that Regulus Black was not used to apologizing, especially to someone beneath him.

This was as close as she would get, it seemed. Though if she were being honest, she was surprised she had even gotten that much.

She realized then that the Slytherin prefect was waiting for her to respond, eyeing her expectantly. The anxious witch nearly choked trying to find her tongue in a haste.

"It's – it's in the past." Came her soft voice, brushing delicately over air between them, not spoken with the same level of certainty or the same demand of attention that his words had come with. "Maybe it would help if we started over? Re-introduced ourselves? We're to work together all year, after all."

Her suggestion was a hesitant one, though she was relieved to see the sharp dip of his head in silent agreement.

"I believe that would be beneficial to us both." He stated before squaring his shoulders as he introduced himself properly. "I am Regulus Arcturus Black, of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, heir to Orion and Walburga Black."

He spoke with eloquence, his head held high. The weight of his title was one he obviously carried proudly. The brunette in front of him faltered for a moment, not sure if he expected a similar introduction.

What was she to say in response?

"I'm Efa Hathaway, of…" She trailed off a moment, wondering what she could possibly say. Was this how all the ancient pureblood families introduced themselves? It seemed rather bothersome to her. "of…Cardiff."

She left out her parent's names on purpose, not wanting to share much with him on the subject of who Charles and Morwenna Hathaway were. It wasn't as if he would have been acquainted with muggles anyway.

She bit her lip at the lacking introduction, grimacing at how unsure and strange it sounded. Perhaps attempting to imitate his style of introduction had not served her as well as she had initially hoped. Just her name would have sufficed.

Efa Hathaway was heir to absolutely nothing, unless one counted her father's enormous collection of books and mediaeval texts and a mediocre life insurance policy, but she doubted somebody like Regulus Black found much value in muggle mediaeval history. Even the home they lived in was one they were only tenants in. There was no family fortune, no estates to be passed down, and no regal titles to her name whatsoever.

To her surprise, however, she was able to make out the subtle twitch of his lips, the faintest hint of a suppressed urge to smile. It was gone quicker than the flickering of a candle's flame, but she had seen it.

Though whether it was genuine amusement or a sneer, she could not tell.

"I see." He said, a faint lilt to his voice that had not been there before. Had she made a fool of herself? She couldn't be certain with the way he hid his emotions. "I believe we're to start in the corridors and rooms of the first floor."

The silence that stretched between them this time was far more comfortable than it had been before, and Efa felt the knot that was her stomach beginning to ease, if only somewhat. She still stood on guard and felt rather jumpy around him, but she sensed that an improvement of sorts had been made.

An entire hour passed before he spoke again.

"You are Welsh, correct?" The young man spoke suddenly and continued when she gave a short bob of her head. "Would you happen to be related to Phineus Hathaway? His wife is a very distant cousin of mine. I only vaguely remember them from my childhood, but they are a respectable family."

"I suppose it's possible." Efa responded carefully, knowing that the answer was that she most definitely was _not_ related to any Phineus Hathaway, though he need not know that.

All the better if he assumed that she was related to this Phineus Hathaway, actually. She surmised that they must also be a pureblood family if Regulus was related to them.

"And you mother," He continued, prying further. "From which family was she born?"

"I'm not sure I know her maiden name, actually. She died when I was very young. My father doesn't speak of her much, it still causes him a great deal of heartbreak." She responded, this time with truth.

There had been a reason why Charles Hathaway had not considered remarrying all these years later. He had loved Morwenna Hathaway dearly, and when Death had come for Morwenna, it had taken a portion of her father's heart along as well. It was Efa's hope that by mentioning her mother's untimely death that Regulus would ask no further and consider it a sensitive subject.

The young man at her side did not notice her hint. Or if he did, it went ignored.

"She must have been a successful witch then. A pureblood, no doubt." He allowed, eyeing her quietly before returning his gaze forward as they exited an abandoned classroom and continued down one of the many winding corridors of the third floor. "You're very adequately accomplished given the fact your father is a squib. It must come from your mother's side."

Adequately accomplished?

She knew it was a compliment in a backhanded sort of way, but it still made the muscles in her jaw twitch in annoyance. He said the word 'squib' as though it left a bad taste upon his tongue, and she did not care for the insinuation that any talent she might have accumulated of her own accord was linked to a pureblood family.

Of course, the young witch was frightfully aware that many thought this way, but it did not make it any easier to hear repeated to her face.

"I suppose she must have been, yes." She returned coolly, attempting to brush off what she perceived as an unintentional insult and allowing him to think what he pleased about her mother.

"And your father, does he work at all?"

The fact that he was not asking _where_ her father worked, but rather if he was capable of work at all felt rather humiliating.

Efa fought to maintain her composure. Her father worked very hard and was an accomplished researcher in his field. He had multiple publications and awards to his name, and he had done all of it while raising his daughter by himself. Efa held her father in very high regard, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from contradicting Regulus by saying so.

"Yes, he works." She replied, tone even.

As much as she wanted to boast of her father's achievements and academic prowess, it would not do to flaunt such information. She did not wish for Regulus, or any of his friends for that matter, to know much about him.

The less people knew of Charles Hathaway, the safer he would be. And as long as it was believed he was a squib working some sort of grunt work in the magical world instead of a muggle history professor, the safer Efa would be.

"I'm sure he must be glad to have a position, they can be hard to come by for those of his _ailment_."

"Right." She agreed neutrally, swallowing her pride as she took the reins of the conversation. "And what does your father do?"

"Politics, of course." He answered, as if it were obvious. She supposed it must have been common knowledge among his social circle or to those who kept up with the complicated politics of the wizarding world. "He writes laws in the Ministry."

The reality of their conversation hit her like a slap in the face then.

It was at that moment that Efa realized exactly what he was doing and why he was asking these questions specifically. He was assessing her, trying to see what she was worth. She was ashamed she hadn't realized it sooner.

This was not some casual conversation or chit-chat, it held a purpose. The answers to these questions were important pieces of information for people like him.

Come to think of it, Otto had asked both her and Gwyn similar questions in their first year before he had eventually decided that he didn't care about what their answers were. She supposed it was second nature to many upper-class pureblooded families to ask after such things, especially when sizing a person up after meeting them for the first time.

"And your mother?" Inquired Efa next, eager to keep the topic of conversation centered around anything other than her own family.

"She keeps the home." Another strange look accompanied his statement.

"You mean to say that she doesn't work?"

"Of course not." He scoffed, staring at her now as if she had grown another head. "Why would she?"

What a strange world he lived in, Efa decided. Her own mother had held a doctorate of Linguistics, and had been an academic who studied dying languages around the world in efforts to preserve them. Morwenna Hathaway had not simply been one to keep house, and Efa fancied she took after her mother in that respect.

"Oh, of course, I'm not sure what I was thinking." Efa responded in an attempt not to seem like she knew so little about how their lives worked. She switched the conversation then, thoroughly intending to stray from the subject of their respective families completely. "I'd heard from a friend that you were made quidditch captain this year?"

With that question, his posture seemed to relax a fraction.

"Yes, I look forward to playing your house's new line up this season." He admitted, suddenly much more invested in the conversation than he had been before. "We've ordered the newest models of brooms for our team though, so I'm afraid the Ravenclaws will be fighting a losing battle. The new handles are designed to be more aerodynamic to allow for less lag, they are extremely well-crafted. The bristles themselves are each polished and made only from Lebanese Cedar."

"Impressive." Commented the witch lightly, though she had no idea whether it was or not. She knew very little about brooms, their bristles, or the newest models.

Though her answer was the correct one to give, apparently, for Regulus gave a quick nod before continuing.

"Quite." Agreed the tall youth at her side. "Which model do you fly?"

The truth was that she did not fly. Efa hated flying and had refused to touch a broom after their 'intro to flying' class in first year. Some students had been naturals, effortlessly soaring through the air, but not her. She'd taken one too many a tumble from her broom before she finally decided to cease her frustrated efforts altogether.

Efa preferred her feet on the ground, where they were supposed to be. At least, that was the lie she told herself. Efa was a terrible flyer, and if there was one thing she hated more than anything else, it was failing.

"I don't have a broom."

"But surely you must fly?"

"No, not at all." She laughed softly, which earned her a look of incredulity.

It seemed that he was very fond of flying and quidditch in general, for he had looked as if he had nearly forgotten himself for a moment while describing the new brooms and their features.

She wondered, if only briefly, that perhaps underneath all the airs, supremacist ideas, friendships with possible Death Eaters, and haughty attitude, that there might be a normal boy there – a normal boy who liked quidditch and flying and other mundane things that young men his age enjoyed. It seemed a strange thought to entertain, given the impression he had made on her thus far.

The Ravenclaw prefect reasoned sharply with herself then, reminding herself that even if that were the case, that those things could simply not be overlooked, especially by someone in her situation and of her background.

The fact remained that he _was_ acquainted with those who had shown sympathies or support to the Dark Lord, that he _did_ repeat ideas that were supremacist in nature, and that he _was_ a product of the society that he had been raised in. No amount of casual conversations about quidditch could change any of those facts.

That train of thought sobered her in an instant, and she reminded herself once more not to get too personal in their conversation, to keep him at arm's length. The nervous knot had returned to her stomach as the duo continued down the corridor.

Efa wasn't sure what lay beneath the many layers of his personality. She was not sure she truly cared to know. She figured it was safer not to.

She asked no more questions of him that evening, sliding back into the silence and secrecy she was well acquainted with.

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* * *

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" – NOW THAT _HAD_ TO HURT! NO FOUL CALLED, THOUGH. MULCIBER GETS AWAY WITH BLATCHING THE RAVENCLAW BEATER AGAIN, THAT CHEEKY LITTLE BAST-"

"Priscilla Harvey, if you are incapable of providing unbiased commentary, then I will-"

McGonagall's reprimands were drowned out in the roar that followed from the opposite end of the stadium as the Slytherin chaser, Andrew Nott, managed to get the quaffle past Peter Conway, the Ravenclaw keeper.

Remus and his three friends, who were seated next to Efa and Otto, booed loudly at the scored goal from the Slytherin team.

It was the first match of the year, and excitement ran rampant and high throughout the stands as they rooted for their preferred victors.

Efa might not have liked to fly herself, but she could not deny that the rush of anticipation from watching a quidditch match was much more exciting than watching a football or cricket match. It was faster, with higher stakes, and the wizarding world was absolutely wild for their favourite sport. Hogwarts students, no matter what background they might have come from, were much the same.

Her father, an avid cricket fan himself, had been quite intrigued the first year that his daughter had come home from her magical school, attempting to explain the sport as best she could. He had laughed for a solid twenty minutes when she mentioned the sport was played on broomsticks, the irony of the typical witchy stereotype comical to the middle-aged man.

Because of course they played their sports on broomsticks, anything else would have been a disservice to the image that most muggles had of the supposedly mythical trope of witches and wizards. Her father had laughed even harder when she had also mentioned that the mediaeval witches and wizards had played quidditch on uprooted trees instead of the modern brooms they had today. He'd had many questions for her that particular summer evening. The thought of it made her smile. He loved learning about her world.

Or at least, what she allowed him learn of her world.

Perhaps one day, if it was safe for her to do so, she would find a way for him to watch a match. She had no doubt Charles Hathaway would adore the sport.

Efa could not help but pay attention to the new brooms that Regulus had described to her just two nights before. They looked sleek and polished, and even from the stands it was obvious that they handled better than the older brooms of her own house's team.

The lack of new brooms, however, did not discourage Ravenclaw's team, who's new team line-up was an improvement from the old. Maybe this year they would snag first or second place in the house cup instead of second or third. The Gryffindors and Slytherins always put up a good fight.

"NOTT PASSES TO LESTRANGE, LESTRANGE TO WILKES, WILKES TO – THE QUAFFLE IS INTERCEPTED BY ROBERTS! ROBERTS DIVES, LOOKS LIKE SHE'S TRYING TO GET LESTRANGE OFF HER TAIL – ROBERTS NARROWLY DODGES A BLUDGER – ROBERTS SCORES FOR RAVENCLAW!"

Otto bellowed something in German and Efa cheered ecstatically, the two of them rooting their friend and team on as they waved the magical banner they had made in support of Gwyn's first match of the season. The banner flashed supporting messages in blue and gold, blinking rapidly like the neon signs in muggle London. The Gryffindor boys with them also erupted into loud hoots and hollers of approval.

Gwyn sped past them, and from her position in the stands, Efa could see the look of pure and unbridled joy on her face as she came down from the high of scoring a goal.

"Your friend isn't half bad, bookworm!" Commented James Potter, earning him a thump on the back of the head from Lily Evans, who was stationed at his side.

"She was brilliant, James, not 'half bad'. And what have I told you about calling names?" The red-headed witch corrected him.

To the surprise of absolutely no one at all, James mumbled a half-hearted apology towards Efa, who only laughed. It was common knowledge that Lily Evans had James Potter wrapped around her pinky finger, whether she knew it yet or not.

"WHAT'S THIS? BLACK HAS VEERED TO THE LEFT, IS IT POSSIBLE HE'S SEEN THE SNITCH? LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I THINK HE HAS! BLACK IN PURSUIT OF THE SNITCH AND - WAIT, WHAT'S AVERY DOING OVER THERE WITH ROBERTS–"

A loud gasp erupted from the stands, and Efa was momentarily confused, for she had been so focused on trying to catch a glimpse of the snitch and Regulus' pursuit of the slippery golden ball that she had not seen what had taken place on the opposite end of the pitch.

"That's a foul! Foul!" Roared Sirius angrily. "That dirty, cheating bastard could have killed her!"

"What?" Questioned Efa frantically, scanning the skies for Gwyn after hearing her and Avery's names mentioned by the announcer. Gwyn was nowhere to be seen, at least not in the air. "What's happened?"

More booing and angry yells were coming from all over the stands now, and many were pointing to something on the ground at the center of the field.

Remus turned to her, expression equally as livid as his friends.

"It's your friend - Roberts, Avery hit her in the back of the head with his beater's bat. She fell."

Sirius and James were nearly foaming at the mouth at the injustice, but Efa payed them no mind. Her gaze travelled past them until it landed on a blue-cloaked figure that lay crumpled on the ground. The figure did not move.

Efa sucked in a gasp of horror as whistles were blown to signal to the players to return to the ground after the foul play. Otto had gone nearly white as a sheet, and she could see him shaking in poorly concealed rage. She dropped the banner in shock, her feet moving of their own accord before she could properly think. Otto followed closely behind her as they attempted to make their way out of the stadium.

"They'll take her straight to Madame Pomfrey, we should go there." Otto's voice was strained, his lips were pressed into a tight line.

Efa could only nod as the joined the rush of students who were either heading towards the pitch or back to the castle. The crowd moved slowly as they attempted to hurry out of the stands, and Otto stepped ahead of her, so he could help them push through the crowd faster.

She struggled to keep up with Otto's long legs as they ran up the hills and towards the hospital wing, pushing past a student here and there in their haste. By the time they had arrived, both were thoroughly out of breath and panting. It had taken a long time to get past the crowds, and Efa was not surprised to see that they were not the first to have arrived, not even by a long shot.

Both Ravenclaw and Slytherin teams, still decked head to toe in their gear and holding on to their brooms were stationed outside the infirmary, and she saw Regulus conversing seriously with David Kim, the rival captain dressed in blue and bronze. McGonagall stood between the two, apparently playing the part of a mediator between the two captains. Their conversation became clearer as the two sixth years approached the small crowd.

"Professor, I demand a rematch. We will play again, fairly and in accordance to the rules." Regulus voiced, sounding a mixture of cross and stern.

"Not until that brute of a beater is suspended from your team!" David volleyed back, pink in the face from anger. "He had no right-"

"I told you already it was an accident." Avery interrupted from behind Regulus, though the smug and sickening grin on his face said otherwise. "Her hair's the same colour as the bludger, an honest mistake."

Efa grabbed Otto's arm when she saw his fingers twitch towards his wand after Avery's comment.

"An _honest mistake_?" Exploded the Ravenclaw captain, now looking furiously to the Slytherin beater. "Perhaps I'll make an _honest mistake_ of my own and send a bludger into your crooked, in-bred teeth next time!"

Avery's smirk dropped in an instant, and the overall attitude of the Slytherin team seemed to shift into dangerous territory. Efa saw that even Regulus' face darkened drastically.

"Was that a threat, half-blood?" Snarled Avery, lips curling into an ugly sneer.

"Enough!" Snapped McGonagall, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a long inhale before continuing. "All of you, _enough_. Mr. Avery shall be suspended from the team for the remainder of the term, but I'm afraid there will be no rematch. Mr. Black caught the snitch before Miss Roberts was injured, the game was already won."

It sounded like it pained her to say it, her verdict not one she might have given if the seasoned witch had not felt the need to follow rules and protocol.

More protests erupted from the players dressed in blue, and Avery did not look quite as satisfied as he had before. Regulus stood in rigid silence, but it was easy to see the quiet anger swimming in his grey eyes.

Efa, however, did not particularly care about rematches or suspensions. She cared about Gwyn, and she and Otto had nearly snuck their way around the crowd and were almost through the door to the infirmary when McGonagall saw them.

"Mr. Kaiser, Miss Hathaway, you will both kindly allow Miss Roberts to rest. She is in good hands and will soon be on the mend."

"Unacceptable." Declared Otto haughtily, channeling his 'I'm the son and heir of Friedrich Kaiser' attitude. "I demand entry _at once_."

"Please, Professor," tried Efa with a softer approach. "We just want to make sure she's well."

"This minute, I want to see her this minute." Otto demanded again, grunting when Efa sent an elbow into his ribs. "Right now."

From behind the professor dressed in emerald robes, Regulus spoke up once more, cutting into the conversation.

"Professor, I must insist on a rematch. I demand that proper consideration be given where it is due."

McGonagall's nostrils flared, and she looked between Otto and Regulus in utter exasperation, both of whom had made stringent demands upon the witch in a position of authority.

"If this hallway is not cleared within the next minute, I will subtract ten points from each of you." She replied curtly before turning to Regulus. "There will be no rematch. That is final, Mr. Black." She then whirled upon Otto, who was still holding his head impossibly high. "And you, Mr. Kaiser, would do well to keep your attitude in check. You may visit your friend after dinner, but for now she will rest undisturbed. Now off with all of you!"

There was a moment of pause and hesitation before the groups began to file out, realizing that the professor of Transfiguration was indeed serious about her threat to take away house points. But as Otto and Efa made their way past the Slytherin quidditch team, the unmistakable voice of Hadrian Avery was heard murmuring darkly to his usual partner in crime, Vance Mulciber.

The dark mutterings sent a chill down Efa's spine, a reminder of the evil that some of these young men aspired to. She nearly had to drag Otto along with her, who had already taken his wand out of his pocket and was looking downright feral after hearing the comment made as they passed.

"The blood traitor bitch had it coming."

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"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Asked Efa for what was likely the hundredth time since sitting down at Gwyn's bedside in the hospital wing.

Gwyneth Roberts only waved the question away, taking another large bite of the chocolate frog that Otto had procured for her. It was almost as if she had not had her skull bashed with a club and fallen from her broom at all, but such were the ways of magical medicine.

"Right as rain, love." She said contentedly, much more interested in the card that had come with her chocolate frog than the fact her head was wrapped in bandages and her arm was in a sling. "Madam Pomfrey said I'll be back on a broom by Monday. Which is good, because we'll be going through some new drills during practice."

"You don't think it would be better to rest a bit longer?" Suggested the prefect at her side, obviously worried.

"'Course not." Replied the injured chaser through a mouth full of chocolate. "All I have to do is wait for the bones to heal, and that'll be done by morning. You're both acting like I've been crippled or maimed-"

"You could have." Reminded Otto sternly, from his position sulking angrily in the corner. "That conniving little _hosenscheisser _could have killed you today."

"Well, obviously he didn't, so you can stop acting like our personal security and-"

"Do you honestly have such little a sense of self-preservation?" Hissed Otto, finally having had enough of Gwyn's carefree attitude. "Avery and his friends have chosen their paths; their parents are known supporters of _you know who. _What happened today was not an accident, and it will not be the last. In case you've forgotten, there's a war going on! You can no longer be so careless!"

Efa looked frantically between the two of them. She tried to raise her voice, but her words were drowned out by Gwyn's response.

"You think I don't know that?" Snapped Gwyn, her nonchalance slipping. "You think I'm not worried too? I don't need you breathing down my neck and reminding me of my impending doom every five minutes, Otto!"

"I remind you because this threat is a real one! If you had seen what I saw this summer, you wouldn't be so careless."

"Yes, Otto, we _know_! This is only the five hundredth time you've reminded us since the train ride here! Merlin, you sound like my mum."

The infuriated blonde stood abruptly, hands clenching and unclenching at his side before he turned sharply on his heels, pivoting and marching straight out of the hospital wing.

"Wait, Otto-!" Called Efa, rising as well and faltering in her steps. Did she go after her angry housemate? Stay and comfort her injured friend? She hesitated, until Otto tossed his head over his shoulder.

"Talk some sense into this stupid girl's thick skull, Efa." He bit before disappearing out the doors in an angry rush.

A small huff caught her attention as the doors swung shut behind him, and she broke her gaze from where she had been staring after their German friend to Gwyn, who had buried her head in her hands with a frustrated noise.

Efa sighed, moving from her stance at the end of the bed to take a seat next to the auburn-haired witch underneath the quilt. Otto and Gwyn always seemed to bicker about something or another, but it was extremely rare that they raised their voices or snapped in such a way like what had just taken place.

"I know that I shouldn't have-" Gwyn grumbled, and Efa remained quiet. "I shouldn't have snapped. But I can't help it, all he's been talking about since we got back this year is how much danger we're in, as if we didn't know."

"You know he's just worried. I don't think he means to frighten us." Reassured the brunette witch softly, letting her gaze drift back to the doors.

She felt uneasy after Otto's departure, his stark warning to them still echoing in her head.

_Just what had he seen over the summer?_

"I am." Gwyn admitted then, seeming to shrink into the quilt that lay over her form. She spoke now without her usual airy and confident attitude, her voice raw and brimming with previously concealed emotions. "Frightened, that is. Even if it doesn't show. Aren't you?"

Efa felt her heart clench in her chest. She was not sure that the word 'frightened' encompassed everything she was feeling. She was terrified of how their world was changing.

It seemed like nowhere was safe anymore, not even the school she had always felt so secure in. She was constantly on edge, making sure she was doing as best she could to keep her head down and mouth shut, hoping that nobody would see through the lie about her heritage.

She was consistently worried about her father getting dragged into things or _worse_. One of her reoccurring nightmares involved returning home to find the Dark Mark cast in ominous clouds and looming over her house.

Otto might have been a bit overbearing with his recent tirades of doom and gloom and his sudden overprotective nature, but Efa was now beginning to understand exactly what had set him on edge. People like her and Gwyn, they were hardly safe anymore. Death Eaters were murdering blood-traitors, muggles, and muggle-borns in broad daylight. For them it was sport.

The war had evolved to a point where it could no longer be ignored, to where you could no longer escape its influences. People were being forced to pick sides or flee, and Efa doubted it would be long before they would be presented with that choice as well.

Many of her former classmates had left as their parents chose to flee for safer territories; sometimes to North America, or to the European continent, or some to even further away. There were some students who would no doubt be joining the Death Eaters – it was not hard to guess where certain people's allegiances lay. For some, it was expected from their own families even. There were also those who would join the resistance, to fight from the shadows and secret hide-outs. Whispers of 'The Order' ran rampant.

Students, mere children, were choosing their sides and deciding what they believed in or what values they stood for. Teenagers were taking up arms and entering the fray of battle.

In the muggle world, kids her age were going to school, playing sports, and living carefree lives. In the magical world, they were choosing sides in a war, hoping that they would live to see the end of it.

Efa was certain that Otto had seen firsthand how the tides were changing in the war over the summer, given the fact that his family was part of the highest and most inner-rings of pureblood families in Europe. Whatever he had seen over the summer had likely frightened him.

The time would soon come when they would have to choose their own paths, of that she had no doubt. This war would leave none of them untouched. That frightened her more than anything else.

"Yes." Breathed Efa, her voice hardly above a whisper. "I am too."

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**Reviews!**

**Akagame hime chan - **I'm glad you appreciate her character! I really wanted to try and be as realistic as possible. I think any sane person would have been terrified given the circumstances of the first wizarding war. As much as I love a good dose of sass, I didn't think it felt real. I'm also glad you loved Antonius and all his blabbering. I think we all know an Antonius in our lives, haha.

**Wikked - **Glad to hear it! I know as a fairly new writer I can relate to other writers who get excited and end up going too fast. When there's so many ideas and you're excited about it all I suppose it's hard not to! I'll try my best to keep things progressing little by little though.

**Junyahui - **Welcome! I'm glad you're excited because so am I, haha. Thanks for the review :)

**Love Fiction 2019 - **Oh, I haven't read that one yet. Do you have any other good fic recommendations?

**Guest (Lyanna) - **Ooooh I definitely agree with what you said about being a muggleborn. There's definitely a lot of prejudice and discrimination. One has to wonder why they stay and tough it out. Although, I guess if I found out I was a witch, I'd probably want to stick around too, despite everything. What about you? And I'm glad Efa feels realistic! I also agree with your assessment of Regulus. I don't think he realized how wrong he was until he graduated and saw how far Voldemort was willing to go in order to achieve his goals, and then leaving poor Kreacher to die like that - that was probably his wakeup call. In this story, I want Efa to play a big role in that realization too, once he discovers she's muggleborn and not a half-blood.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - Here come the Marauders! Who's your favourite character of the Marauders era? Let me know!**

**Answers to reviews can be found below. Enjoy!**

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_September, 1977_

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The sun sparkled over the lake, casting the mirage of what could easily be construed as thousands of shimmering diamonds over the rippling surface of the water. The breeze picked up again, and Efa shivered at the cool touch, pulling her robes in over her chest and shoulders.

She and Remus were parked by the grassy shoreline of the lake, enjoying what was likely to be one of the last pleasant days of the year. Summer was rapidly giving way to autumn, and with the turning of the seasons would come months upon months of cloudy and drizzly weather. They were used to such weather patterns, and had decided to take their studying outside after seeing how lovely the day had turned after a foggy morning, taking advantage of the last bits of warm weather until late spring at the earliest.

The sky was still partly cloudy, but the sun felt warm despite the chill in the air, and she was thoroughly enjoying her weekend so far.

Efa and Remus were spread out on a blanket, surrounded by books, snacks, and a thermos that she had filled with tea for them. Remus had even managed to procure some biscuits to accompany the tea, which she assumed had come from the generosity of the house-elves he and his friends were always mooching off after hours. How they managed to sneak around at night without getting caught, she hadn't the slightest clue.

She was grateful for the time with Remus, for it was providing a bit of respite from the tense environment that hung over her two friends from her house.

Gwyn and Otto were still not speaking to each other, for what was now almost three weeks.

Otto continued to brood and make snarky comments about how Gwyn had no care for her own safety, and Gwyn refused to even acknowledge he was speaking to her. Efa, in careful judgement, had decided to let them come around on their own time.

That, and her introverted nature made it hard for her to find the will to get involved in their disagreements. So, she had refused to take sides, not only because she was able to see and understand both of their positions, but because she hated conflict in general. Efa would let them work it out. They always did, even if any of their previous disagreements had never lasted this long.

"Effie, I need your help again." Sighed Remus, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. She put down her readings for Herbology and leaned over, following his finger to what he was pointing at in his own book. "I don't understand what the difference is between a cassette and an eight-track cartridge. They both play music, so what's the difference?"

Efa smiled to herself. It was always interesting to see what things would stump a witch or a wizard about the muggle world. To her, having grown up amongst muggles, electronics and certain technologies were easily integrated into her life, but some from the magical community were thoroughly befuddled about the daily lives and technologies their muggle counterparts.

The first time that Otto and Gwyn had seen one of her clickable ballpoint pens, they had gaped and marveled at the writing utensil, amazed at the fact that one did not have to dip it into an ink well to continue writing. Gwyn had been horrified to learn how muggles curled their hair, grimacing at Efa's descriptions of a hot iron rod that plugged into the wall or ceramic and foam curlers that one slept in. Otto still failed to grasp the concept of what a telly was, no matter how many times Efa explained it.

Remus was an interesting case. He was a half-blood, but his muggle-born mother had completely left behind the muggle world and an abusive family, never looking back and cutting off all ties to the realm of the non-magical after her marriage. Remus knew little about how the muggle world worked as a result. His mother never spoke of anything regarding her life before her marriage, apparently.

"An eight-track is marketed specifically for music, I think. The cassette can be used to play music or record other things, like a lecture or your own voice." Efa explained patiently, thinking about her father's collection of records and cassettes at home. "Most people prefer cassettes these days, though."

"Didn't you say your father collects them? What's that group he likes, The Ants? The Butterflies?"

"The Beatles!" Efa could not help but laugh, bringing a hand up to her mouth as she giggled. "They were popular when he was in uni."

"And what's the one you like? The one from Sweden?" He questioned next, lips giving a turn upwards at the sound of her laughter. "Baba? Bebe?"

Efa was a fairly quiet person, and the moments that Remus managed to make her laugh, a true laugh and not a polite one, were moments he felt he had accomplished something rather marvelous. He knew what the names of those muggle groups were, of course – he'd just wanted to hear her laugh.

Remus preferred wizarding pop culture and music, but Sirius liked to listen to that of the muggle world, and James often joined in on the hope he would be able to impress Lily Evans with his muggle musical knowledge.

"It's ABBA." She corrected with a grin, dimples showcased on her cheeks.

"Those muggle groups have the strangest names, don't they?" Remus shook his head, but Efa was quick to refute his claims.

"Stranger than the Giggling Goblins? Or the Whizzing Wiffywimples? Or what about-"

"Alright, maybe you're right about this one." Conceded the Gryffindor, turning his attentions back to the textbook on top of the blanket. "You know, I thought I'd be doing myself a favour by taking Muggle Studies as an elective in my last year. I thought it would be easy."

"Having second thoughts?"

"Well it's too late now, we're already a month into the term. You're only allowed to switch or drop electives in the first week and we're well beyond the mark." Remus stated, giving her a sly look. "I suppose I'll just have to rely on you."

"Or," Efa raised an eyebrow. "You could spend more time reading your textbooks."

"That's fair."

They returned to their books, the time passing peacefully and slowly as they studied while listening to the tiny waves lapping at the shore of the lake. Occasionally, they'd sip at tea or reach for a biscuit.

"Remus." Efa questioned quietly after an hour or so of contented silence. "What do you suppose you'll do after graduating?"

The thought had been on her mind recently after reading David Kim's copy of the Daily Prophet a few days prior.

The paper had detailed another law set into action that would restrict certain species and those of specific blood statuses from applying for jobs within the Ministry. That was a large blow; the Ministry employed a vast majority of witches and wizards throughout the UK and Ireland.

"You saw the Prophet then, I take it?" Remus asked, careful not to let his tone fall flat.

"I did…" She trailed off, setting her book down and sitting up properly. "Do you think that you would fall into the category of 'undesirables' under the new laws?"

Remus frowned at her, shifting uncomfortably as he followed suit and sat up as well. They usually tended to keep away from talking of his _affliction_, for she knew it made him uncomfortable.

He had never told her himself. Efa was aware that, if it had been left to his decision, he probably never would have told her at all.

The suspicious young witch had figured it out in her third year, finally putting together the pieces of why his disappearances were so perfectly timed around the lunar cycle, and why he always returned to classes looking worse for wear on certain days of the month.

Because, if there was one thing a woman knew a thing or two about, it was _cycles_. Her own feminine cycle tended to follow the lunar cycle as well, which was how she had initially picked up on the fact that Remus had a cycle of his own, but in a very different sort of way.

Though, to his credit, he had not lied to her when she finally plucked up the courage to confront him about her suspicion. They were each other's secret keepers from then on.

"It's likely." He admitted quietly, before steeling his face and continuing with ease. "As if I would want to work for the ministry, anyway. Can you imagine how boring that would be?"

"I – well, yes – but I'm only asking because –"

He knew exactly why she was asking. It was clear she was worried about his future if he would be unable to find employment, and she had likely heard how Sirius and James boasted of wanting to join the fight against the Dark Lord as soon as they graduated.

"What about you?" He asked, cutting off her statement.

Efa shot him an exasperated look, but did not pursue the topic again. She knew well enough by now that she would get no further information from him once he closed a subject.

She respected his boundaries though, and did not press further.

"I've got another year to think about it." She remarked off-handedly.

That caught his attention immediately. Efa never procrastinated.

"But you must have some leaning one way or another?" He prompted, curious to know what her plans might be. "You'll be seventeen and legally of age come November, that's old enough to start applying."

And if Remus Lupin knew anything at all about Efa Hathaway, it was that she was not a spontaneous person, not in the slightest. She made lists, she made plans, she made flowcharts to help organize her thoughts. He knew that she would have thought about it already.

"Honestly?" She asked, reaching for a biscuit and fingering it delicately between her thumb and index finger as she lost herself in her own mind.

"Honesty would be preferable." She gave a soft smile at that.

"I might like to continue as an academic, but there's not many upper level institutions in the wizarding world." She admitted, staring at the biscuit in her fingers as she contemplated aloud. "Sure, there's a few specialized schools, but I've been playing around with the idea of going to a muggle university. Both my parents did."

"A muggle university?" He asked, leaning forward with surprise on his features. "I would have thought you'd want to try for that internship with the potions masters at St. Mungo's like you mentioned last year."

Efa sighed, shoulders deflating.

"Things have changed since last year, though, haven't they?" Her words were a statement, and not a question, because they both knew this was true. "They do background checks on applicants for jobs now. I'm probably just as unlikely to find employment as you are, and I'd rather not take the risk. The whole 'my dad's a squib and my mom's a witch' story is fine for Hogwarts, but I doubt it will work after graduation."

Remus' features morph into a scowl. It wasn't fair, none of it was, and they both knew that Efa was right.

It was highly unlikely that she and Remus, or any other 'undesirable' for that matter, would be able to find any decent employment.

It was common that students began sending letters to certain offices in their sixth and seventh year, so that they could begin working immediately after graduating, but Efa suspected that Remus had sent none and neither had she.

Even Lily Evans, who was academically brilliant and deserving of a good job, had already received nearly twenty letters of rejection from potential employers since she had started applying at the end of her sixth year. Efa had seen her crying in the prefect's bathroom hardly two nights ago, after another letter of rejection.

Truth be told, Efa had no idea what was going to happen to people like him, and to people like Lily or herself. Unless something gave, unless something changed, they would continue to be outliers to a society they had every right to participate in.

"Then how about this-" Remus began, shaking his head of the negative thoughts that had filled his mind. "If the world were at peace and you could apply for any job you liked, what would you want to do?"

"The world _isn't_ at peace, Remus. And I can't apply for-"

"But suppose you _could_."

"Fine." Breathed Efa. "I'd like to become an alchemist, or maybe a potions mistress. What about you?"

"I'd become a healer, or a researcher." Remus said boldly. "So I could find cures for people afflicted with certain illnesses like mine. Or at least help make their lives more bearable."

The brunette witch smiled warmly for a moment, before it slowly began to fall from her face.

Dreams, as their current situation held, were becoming harder to grasp and hold on to. No amount of dreaming or hoping for better would change the fact that they were now more unlikely than ever to come true. Efa knew it was folly to chase after something that was unattainable for her.

Still, it was fun to imagine herself brewing and mixing potions among some of the most famous potions masters of their time. It made her happy to think of studying alchemy more in-depth. She could see it clearly in her mind's eye, picturing her ideal way of work, even if it would likely never come to pass.

"It sounds nice, doesn't it? Talking about dreams." She clarified wistfully.

"Then let's keep talking about them." Declared the sandy-haired boy, snatching the forgotten biscuit from Efa's fingers and stuffing it into his mouth. "I have a dream that I'll make enough money to buy my parents a cottage by the sea. Now you go."

Efa paused, rubbing her chin in thought before her eyes lit up.

"I'd like to travel the world with the people I love. I want to see the seven wonders, muggle and magical."

"I'll have a proper job, one where I won't take orders from anyone else!"

"And I'll work alongside Nicolas Flamel!"

"Oh, here's a good one – I'll never have to patrol the castle with pug-faced Maxine Parkinson ever again."

The Ravenclaw prefect chuckled, imagining that he was probably already at his wit's end with the Slytherin prefect who liked to gossip and put others down at every chance she got.

"A very nice dream, Mr. Lupin." She replied, still fighting laughter.

"Indeed, Miss Hathaway." He responded loftily, giving a very fake impression of a posh accent before continuing as normal. "Though I'm sure she's not much better than Black. What's he like, anyways? Sirius always talks about how horrible it was living with him before he left."

Efa took a moment to think on it.

Regulus Black intimidated her, to put it quite simply. She felt no sense of ease around him, like she was always tiptoeing around on thin ice. Every word she said to him was careful, guarded, and hesitant.

However, despite their rough first week and a few misunderstandings, he had been polite and agreeable since they had decided to put it behind them. Since then, after a month's time, things had gone smoothly.

They were by no means chatty or friendly, and often spent most of their rounds in relative silence, but when they did speak to each other, there was no intentional animosity. In her mind, that had to count for something.

He gave the impression of an aloof, serious, and well-mannered young man, even though his haughty attitude and ingrained prejudices ruined that image most of the time.

"Surprisingly cordial." She admitted after a few moments of thought. "We've an understanding of sorts between us now. We don't actually talk much, if I'm being honest."

Remus was about to answer, his tongue already moving to form the words in response, when another voice called from not too far off from where they were situated by the shoreline. Efa's face fell as she recognized the voice.

"Oi, Moony!"

It was Sirius Black, flanked by James Potter and followed closely by the mousy looking Pettigrew boy. They strut down the path towards the lake as if they owned the grounds, the mischievous smiles on their faces indicating that they might not have been up to anything good or wholesome before they had found their way there.

"And there goes the peace and quiet." Mumbled Efa to herself, biting back a groan as she turned her back to the approaching boys.

She should have known the peace of a lazy Saturday afternoon would not last, it rarely did whenever any of Remus' friends were involved. It was a shame, she considered, that one was unable to apparate within the castle grounds. If she had able to, she would have been gone faster than Remus could say 'fizzing whizbees'.

Her heart continued to drop as the sound of heavy footsteps crunching over fallen leaves became louder.

"You've been gone for hours, Moony!" Proclaimed James with much theatrics before his gaze narrowed in mirth upon the back of Efa's head. Her curls were an unmistakable giveaway to her identity. "What's this here? Do you think we've interrupted something, Padfoot?"

Sirius was quick to plop himself down straight on top of the blanket, stretching out his long legs and knocking over their thermos of tea, which Efa was quick to right before it could spill much. James and Peter sat down as well, imposing their presence and making quick work of going straight for the little tin of biscuits after having spied the sweet treats.

"Tea, biscuits, books, and a picnic blanket? I'd say we've interrupted a date, wouldn't you, Wormtail?" Sirius stated casually, stretching his limbs wantonly after snagging the thermos and taking a long swig.

Efa made a mental note not to drink any more of the tea. She was well past the days when children would tease each other about cooties on the swings by her childhood home, but she had no interest in sharing germs with Sirius Black.

Remus, she could handle, but not his friends.

"Moony's mooning over the bookworm-" Cackled the stout and beady-eyed teen in response to the question asked of him.

Efa could feel her features darken in indignation. If she had not been so busy glaring at the three boys, she might have noticed the pink flush to her fellow prefect's cheeks.

"We're studying." Bit Efa crossly, folding her arms over her chest self-consciously. "Not that I'd expect you to know much about that particular activity."

Sirius barked out a sharp laugh, sending crumbs of stolen biscuits flying from his mouth.

"She may just have a point." Laughed James, not the least bit insulted by her words. "That word isn't part of my vocabulary. Who needs to study when you can get by on raw talent like us?"

Efa rolled her eyes, purposefully shifting further away from the boys as she grabbed one of her books and began flipping through the pages. A tea stain on the corner of the pages indicated that she had not been fast enough at grabbing the open thermos that Sirius had knocked over, and she grimaced unhappily at the sight of it.

It was one thing to be pestered, Efa was usually able to let it roll off her back and remain unperturbed. Messing with her books, however, was another story entirely.

"And is this _raw talent_ of yours the reason you failed your first four assignments in Muggle Studies?" Challenged Lupin, a smug sort of look on his face.

"He only took the class to try to impress Evans." Baited the former heir of the Black family. "And I'm in it because I wanted to learn more about those automobiles and their engines, but I don't think they're even going to cover that bit. If we'd known it would be so hard we would have done like Peter and taken something silly like Astrology."

"Astrology isn't silly!" Peter cried. "I read your horoscope yesterday James, and I'm telling you that it foretold that something bad was going to happen. And look – you spilled your pumpkin juice in your lap this morning _and_ got slapped by Lily!"

"You're saying that like it isn't a normal day for him." Cut in Sirius, looking quite amused.

Efa watched them in wonder.

How very different Remus' friends were from her own. These boys were wild and rowdy, they constantly broke rules and payed little care to societal expectations. They did as they pleased and Efa felt certain there would arrive a day when they would pay a price for their reckless behaviors, but that day had yet to come.

She felt suddenly very out of place after their arrival. What had previously been a comfortable and relaxing environment was now completely flipped, leaving her feeling like the odd one out of their little group, which was a fair assessment to make. She was not part of their friend group, nor did she want to be. They seemed to invite trouble wherever they went, and trouble was something that Efa was keen to avoid.

Efa gathered her things quietly, feeling the familiar sensation of social anxiety and content to leave the four Gryffindors to their own devices. She made the decision to collect her thermos from Remus at a later date.

There were still materials she needed to look over and an essay for her Alchemy class she wanted to finish it before her patrols in the evening. She figured the library would be the best place to be for that.

If there was one place she never seemed to have to worry about running into any of the self-proclaimed Marauders, it was the library. The Ravenclaw witch wasn't even sure she had ever seen any of them there, unless Remus met her for a study session.

The library it would be, she decided firmly. There she would have the peace and quiet she craved.

"It was lovely seeing you three again, but I'm afraid I've got to go." She stated neutrally, trying to keep any hints of sarcasm from her tone because it was certainly _not_ lovely to see them. She stood, waving discretely to Remus as she started back towards the castle.

She paused suddenly, turning back towards the group as a fleeting thought entered her mind.

"Oh, and Sirius?" She called mildly, and the older Black brother looked up curiously, pausing in his conversation with Peter to glance her way. "You might try AutoSport for automobile or engine information if you can get ahold of one, it's a muggle magazine."

With that, she pivoted, continuing her quest for a quiet study space where she would not be interrupted by any more seventh-year Gryffindors with a penchant for seeking out and creating chaos.

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Remus watched her retreating figure, his easygoing smile falling slightly from his lips.

Her robes swayed in the breeze, and her long curls whipped around her frame, the sun bringing out the slightest tinge of a reddish hue in her dark brown hair. He wondered for a moment if her hair was as soft as it looked.

It had been a lovely afternoon. He always enjoyed her company, there was a sense of peace and tranquility that she tended to bring with her wherever she went; a calm like the sound of the soft wind rustling tree leaves or the feeling of the warmth of the sun on your skin. It was a peace he had never felt around his own group of friends, but that was just as well.

Different people brought different feelings and emotions with them, he supposed. His own group of friends brought with them a sense of brotherhood and belonging and reckless adventuring that he knew Efa's presence never would.

Though he wished, just once, that Efa wouldn't bolt whenever his friends eventually showed up. It appeared that she did not mind spending some time with them if it happened that they all found themselves together in one place, but she never stayed long.

He wished that she saw in them what he did, because he knew that these three housemates of his were good souls, brave and loyal…if a bit brash and immature at times.

Efa had her own friends that she preferred over his, the cocky and overly-concerned Otto Kaiser and the easy-going and nonchalant Gwyneth Roberts. Even Remus could admit that her friends were likely a better match for her than his own.

The trio of sixth-year Ravenclaws all shared a passion for learning, studious attitudes, the typical Ravenclaw intellect, and displayed the characteristics of calm personas for the most part.

"Hogsmeade trip is coming up soon, mate." Sirius trailed off, following the direction of his gaze and waggling his eyebrows when Remus finally broke out of his trance and snapped his eyes to his friend's smug looking face.

"And?" He frowned, not particularly in the mood to deal with being teased about this anymore than what had already taken place.

" '_And'_, he says!" Scoffed Sirius, looking to James now. "Do you hear this, Prongs?"

"Still in denial, poor lad."

"I've no idea what you two are on about." Grumbled the sandy-haired boy with a foul glance their way.

"Don't you?" Smirked Sirius, gesturing towards the now very small figure of Efa Hathaway in the distance. "Look me straight in the eyes and tell me you don't want to snog Hathaway in a cozy corner of the Three Broomsticks, go on! I'll leave you alone if you can say it without your face going red!"

"Shut up." Scowled Remus, though it was all in good nature.

"Let him be, Paddy." Interrupted James, snagging the thermos from Sirius in a quick motion. "He'll do it when he's right and ready, won't you, Moony?"

A distraction. He needed a distraction to divert their attention away from him and the blush on his cheeks.

"Say, Wormtail." Remus chose to ignore the two mischievous housemates of his, giving a desperate attempt to shift the conversation to anything that did not have to do with what they were currently on about. "Those horoscopes of yours, what's mine say?"

Peter grinned to himself, taking the shimmering blue book from his satchel and flipping through the pages.

"Unrequited love-!" He announced with a dramatic sigh, fluttering his eyelashes at the young werewolf.

Remus scowled at the dig, throwing his Muggle Studies textbook at the boy's face as Sirius and James chortled loudly to the side.

"Forget it, you twat."

"I'm only joking, Moony!" Sniggered Peter, before he answered truthfully this time. "It says that you'll soon be faced with many a life-changing decision if I've read your chart right."

"What kind of decisions?" He asked then, only slightly intrigued but still willing to continue the façade of interest so long as he was no longer being given hell.

He had never believed in anything regarding this type of subject, and he knew that divination and other fields closely related to it were some of the most unreliable forms of magic there were, if they were even magical at all. Remus had his doubts.

Even Efa had mentioned before that most muggles didn't place much stock in this sort of thing, though he had found it very interesting that muggles apparently printed horoscopes in their motionless newspapers.

"Oh, come off it, Wormtail – this is all nonsense. Nobody believes in divination and star charts." Argued James, lounging back onto the quilt.

"The centaurs do." Argued Peter, flipping through his book a bit more before coming to a stop. "Here, I'll read yours again, Prongs. Do you want the short-term or long-term predictions?"

"Alright, I'll play along. Tell me if Lily will ever fancy me or not." Conceded James merrily. "Give me the long-term, oh great and powerful all-seeing Wormtail!"

"That has a nice ring to it." The boy mumbled as he traced his finger over a star diagram and flipped a couple more pages. "Ah, here. It says you'll face a great betrayal at the hands of someone very close to you."

Sirius snorted, taking another gulp from the thermos.

"See?" Declared James triumphantly, not worried in the slightest. "Now we know it's all hogwash. Honestly, Wormtail, I can't understand how you believe in any of that."

"Oh, I know." Piped up Sirius with a malicious glimmer in his grey eyes. "I'd bet that means that Lily chooses to marry _Snivellus_ instead of you!"

Remus laughed along with Peter as James pounced on Sirius for his comment, the two troublemakers rolling around and roughhousing under the warmth of the sun.

For a moment, it seemed as if the rambunctious group of boys had no troubles in the world, and that nothing could ever come between them.

.

* * *

.

Efa Hathaway was in her element.

The library was blissfully quiet, and the only sounds that could be heard were the faintest whisperings, the whistling of wind outside the tall glass windows, the flipping of pages, and quills scratching against parchment.

These were some of her most beloved sounds to hear, they soothed her soul and provided decent noise to focus by. The sound of the wind in the trees and little waves lapping at the shore was missed, but the library, in her opinion, was just as nice. The library was almost like a second home to her, and she always felt comfortable there.

Her own quill moved quickly across her fresh parchment, the black ink glistening and displaying neat cursive script as she continued her essay for her Alchemy class. The subject of this particular essay, which she found quite fascinating, was about the alchemical Law of Divine Oneness, the concept that everything in the universe was connected to everything else; a law that transcended even the realm of magic and muggles. She was deep inside her mind as she wrote about the material and philosophical proofs that prevailed in defense of this law.

From the books that were scattered around her regarding the subject of the law she had been tasked to write about, it looked as though different magical scholars remained divided on the subject. Some ascertained that the Law of Divine Oneness existed on a more physical level, and some argued it was purely metaphorical.

Interestingly enough, a half-blooded Moorish scholar had taken a somewhat religious approach in his writings about the subject in the tenth century, claiming that the Law of Divine Oneness was something that was very much alive, part of one's life force and that of the earth and universe as well, equating his theory to the concept of an omnipresent and omnipotent divine creator.

She found alchemy very intriguing; it was an elective that was a competitive one to gain a spot in, and Efa had managed to secure her position in the class through hard work and superb marks. Otto and Gwyn had been very jealous, for their applications to take the elective had been denied, and they frequently stole peeks at her textbook.

From somewhere off to her right, she heard the ancient wooden doors to the library creaking open, as well as a firm pair of footsteps that followed the first noise. She bent her wrist to dip her quill into her inkwell again without taking her eyes off her essay, not yet having noticed the approaching figure until he was before her.

"Hathaway, I thought I might find you here. I was hoping to speak to you about-"

Regulus Black's query was interrupted by the loud crash her inkwell made when it fell to the floor.

She had not meant to send it flying off the table, but her body had given an involuntary jerk accompanied with a small yelp of surprise after looking up from her essay to find Black's intimidating figure looming over her desk. She had been too absorbed in her work to pay attention to his approach until the young man was towering over her.

She faltered, regaining her wit as her heartbeat slowed back to a normal pace. Meanwhile, the young Black heir simply picked up the well and muttered a quick cleaning charm that caused the ink to seep back into the well as if it had never spilled at all.

"May I sit?" He asked politely, though he did not wait for her answer before taking a seat opposite her.

He leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table and interlacing his fingers. Efa leaned back subconsciously, feeling as though it were an invasion of her space.

Was there nowhere she could write her essay without being disturbed?

"You wanted to speak to me?" She asked, gaze guarded.

The two of them generally did not converse outside of their prefect duties and potions class. This was the first time either one of them had sought the other out beyond the allotted amount of time they spent with each other. They had been patrolling and working together for what was almost a month now.

"I'll get straight to the point, so as not to take up your time." He informed her, wasting no breath getting down to business. "Slughorn has posted notice of a potions competition for sixth and seventh years in the Slytherin common room. The objective is to create an original and successful potion by the end of the term and only those taking Advanced Potions are eligible to enter. The only requirement is that the students work in partners and are both of age by the time they submit their work."

"That sounds very interesting, but why are you telling me about it?" Asked Efa with a subtle cocking of her head to the side.

"I'd like to enter with you as my partner."

Efa blinked.

Once, twice, and then again.

"You want to enter a potions competition together." She parroted back to him, completely dumbfounded, to which he nodded at. "But why not ask Severus? He's better than I am, and he's in your house."

"Severus has already registered for the competition with Salvatore Rossi. And the two of us are already competing with them for the top spot in Slughorn's class."

"I don't know…" Efa trailed off uncertainly.

"Will you be seventeen by the end of the term?" He demanded, looking her up and down as if to mentally guess about what her exact age might be. "I came of age just recently, so as long as you'll be of age, there's nothing to prohibit us from entering."

"Yes, but I'm not sure I'd have time for anything else. Especially something as time consuming as the creation of an original potion."

That was only half the truth. She was not sure she wanted to spend any more time around him than necessary, and she felt that familiar knot of anxiety beginning to form in her stomach again.

Her mind was divided at the idea. She adored brewing potions, and her competitive academic nature practically itched at the chance to claim first place, but was that drive enough to willingly put herself around Regulus any more than she already had? She was not certain.

"I believe we could win." He insisted, leaning forward once more. His eyes had a certain boyish spark in them, one that was not completely hidden underneath his regal airs. She could sense he also wanted the chance to compete academically, that the opportunity was worth something to him. "The winners split two thousand galleons and will have their potion published in the next edition of the standardized textbook."

"_Nefoedd!"_ Sputtered Efa in Welsh after hearing the sum of the monetary prize. She immediately backtracked, realizing that her reaction would have not been understood. "Excuse me, I just – two thousand galleons, are you sure?"

"Yes, but that's hardly the point." He pressed. "I am sure we could win. Slughorn seems to think so as well."

Efa was still processing the two thousand galleons. That was, by her standard, a fortune on its own, even split halfway with Regulus.

That money would be a great help to her, and she supposed there was no harm in a simple academic competition. To create an original potion and have her name published in a textbook, to receive a small fortune as prize money, and to see if she was capable of winning against tough competition…

She closed her eyes for a short moment, making a mental list of the pros and cons. When she had decided that the pros outweighed the cons, she let her lids flutter open again, meeting the expectant gaze of Regulus Black.

"Alright." Efa agreed after a careful moment of consideration.

"Wonderful." He stated in a clipped tone, though she could tell he was pleased she had given in to his request. "I'll enter our names tonight. Let's meet sometime this week to discuss ideas. Which day works best with your schedule?"

"Tuesday evening?" She suggested, her head still spinning from the recent developments.

"I've quidditch practice, but my Monday and Thursday are currently free."

"Thursday then? I have a study group on Mondays."

"Thursday." He agreed with a firm nod. "We'll meet in the library after dinner."

Efa only gave a small bob of her head in confirmation, still feeling as if she were in a bit of a haze.

She watched him leave after he had given her a stiff dip of his head as a goodbye, brown eyes trailing after his tall figure as he swept out of the library doors, strutting with purpose and confidence.

Even though she knew it probably would have been best to turn him down and respond that she was not interested, she could not bring herself to regret the decision and commitment she had just made. She was curious, and more than that, her competitive streak and desire to prove herself had gotten the best of her once again.

Despite her better judgement, Efa Hathaway was interested.

.

* * *

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**Reviews!**

**Guest (Lyanna) - **I really love Otto too, but I'm biased because I created him, haha. I completely agree with you. It was even stated that around the time of the Marauders era, since there were so many Voldemort supporters who had infiltrated high positions in the ministry, they created laws that kept people from applying to decent jobs if they didn't have half-blood or pureblood backgrounds (like I mentioned in this chapter). That's gotta be so hard, and I agree that it would definitely leave scars.

**LoveFiction2019 - **Thank you! (p.s. - if you have any other fics about Harry Potter to recommend, I'm always open)

**Guest (unnamed) - **Thank you for taking the time to review, I really appreciate it. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

**Wikked - **I'm glad you enjoyed it! So, having Efa growing a spine is essentially the plan, but it won't happen right away. Gotta leave room for character development! I'm writing her as dealing with a lot of anxiety and stress, and I want to show the transformation she goes through as slow and steady. Thank you for your review, I love reading your analysis!


	5. Chapter 5

_October, 1977_

_._

'_Dear Tad, I'm sorry I haven't written yet. Things are quite busy this year, as I suspected they might be-'_

It was a dreary looking Wednesday evening. A light mist fogged most of the windows in the Ravenclaw tower's common room, and Efa could see very little of the school grounds from her position curled up on one of the plush window seats hidden behind one of the thin gauzy banners of dark blue silk that hung from the ceiling.

It was quiet and cosy as she penned a letter to her father, having substituted a regular ballpoint pen in place of her standard white quill for conveniences sake.

She imagined her father was probably cross with her for not having written sooner, especially since he had no way to get in contact with her while she was away at school unless she sent an owl first. He could always send a reply with whichever owl she sent, but he could not send things on his own as a muggle.

The owls were only capable of understanding humans with magic in their blood, after all.

She usually wrote him within the first week to let him know that she had arrived safely and was enjoying her classes, as well as the inclusion of little bits of information the young witch thought he might find interesting.

He would respond with questions and updates about what was happening in her hometown and with his work, and it was also often he asked after Otto and Efa ever since they had visited her house for holiday celebrations in December of their third year. There were times he liked to include a newspaper clipping or a photo as well.

All in all, they took care to maintain a steady correspondence, and Efa was ashamed that she had waited so long before writing to him. Knowing her father, it was likely he was worried and feeling helpless at being unable to initiate contact himself.

Though what could she have said in her letter? Certainly not the truth.

She'd kept so much from him, and things had gotten so much worse since the previous year that she had been at a loss when attempting to write this letter the last few times she had tried.

What was she supposed to say – 'Dearest father, I'm writing you amidst one of the most terrifying wizarding wars the world has seen. Everything is fine…except for a plethora of horrible and scary things that would likely send you into cardiac arrest. School's great, learning loads. I'll see you for the holidays if the Dark Lord hasn't killed us all yet. Love, Efa.'

Yeah, that wasn't going to cut it.

Efa bit back a bitter sigh as she began her letter, once again smudging the horrid reality until only bits of the truth remained. That was what she fed her father – little kernels of truth, fragments of a shattering society. The rest, the frightening things that had slowly become so commonplace that she was beginning to get used to them, she kept hidden.

'_I've just started my apparition lessons (that method of transportation I told you about over summer) this week, and if all goes well I'll be certified by winter break. Then you won't have to travel all the way to London to pick me up from King's Cross!'_

Efa was very satisfied at the idea of finally learning to apparate. She felt guilty about the fact her father had to travel so far to transport her to and from London during her holidays in his battered old Volkswagen that had seen better days. It was a long trip to make by car, and the roads went through many hilly and mountainous areas as one crossed out of Wales and into Southern England.

This year, however, she would be of age and legally able to use her magic by the time winter holidays came around, and she would also be ready to apparate on her own. That was a prospect she was looking forward to.

Her father had been completely stumped over the summer when she had presented him with her permission slip to be granted access to the lessons. No matter how many times she had explained it to him, he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the idea that she would be able to move her body hundreds of kilometres in an instant, bending the scientific laws of both space and time to apparate and disapparate as she pleased.

Then again, she supposed that many commonly understood scientific facts and theories in the muggle world held no real weight in the magical world.

'_Otto and Gwyn send their love. Remus says hello as well, though you've yet to meet him. He's also Welsh, though his family lives in the north. I think you'd like him. I've made another acquaintance (if you can call it that) this year, but only because we've been forcibly paired together. We'll also be working on a project for an academic competition. _

_I haven't decided how I ought to feel about him. He (as well as his family– do you remember what I told you of the 'sacred twenty-eight'? Well, he's one of them.) is intimidating, to say the least. And beyond that, he's every bit the pompous arse I thought someone like him might be. Still, I can't deny I'm looking forward to working with him for this competition._

_He seems to think we have a chance of winning, and I hope he's correct because the prize is two thousand galleons (nearly ten thousand pounds!). I'd like to say that the prize money and promise of publication had little to do with what influenced me to agree to enter the contest together, but I'm afraid that would be a big fat lie. Perhaps I'll take us on holiday!'_

It was days later and Efa was still processing the fact that the prize money for the contest was so high. She wondered if one of the wealthy alumni families had sponsored it, because she doubted that the school would have such a sum to freely give.

She couldn't help but grin as she described Regulus to her father. Especially the 'pompous arse' part. That had felt particularly satisfying to write since she couldn't go around saying it out loud or to his face.

Regulus _was_ a haughty and pompous arse, that much was certain. He spoke about his family and his own position in society as if everything else was underneath him and undeserving of his attention. She knew it was just the way he was raised, but it did get tiring to listen to.

However, there was an area she felt that she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

She had only known him a month, but she had observed that, though he was haughty and sported a 'high and mighty' attitude, he was not cruel.

He was not like Avery and Mulciber, who bullied and maimed for sport, or Rosier, who sneered and spat upon those who had not been lucky enough to have been born within his parent's social circle of rich and powerful families. Regulus seemed very focused on the etiquette of his station and presenting a proper image of a noble family, and she could tell he had a deeply ingrained and old-fashioned sense of honour that most young men often left aside these days.

However, Efa reasoned with herself then, even if he did not join in the vicious bullying that his friends took part in, it was not as if he put a stop to it. It seemed he rarely intervened where they were concerned, turning a blind eye to their malicious natures.

Perhaps he could not speak up without risking himself. Or perhaps he simply did not care what happened to those who he saw as lesser than himself. It was also possible he could not say anything because of the intricate familial politics of pure-blooded society. Who knew what he might have overlooked for the sake of up-keeping ancient familial relationships?

Perhaps it was best she didn't know his reasoning. Curiosity had killed the cat after all.

Then again, some said that satisfaction brought it back, and she had a sinking suspicion that there was more to Regulus Black than she gave him credit for – and Efa was nothing if not curious.

He'd been on her mind a lot lately.

She shook her head, attempting to clear her mind of her conflicting thoughts about the Slytherin prefect and continued, scrawling neat cursive onto fresh parchment.

'_I hope all is well with you. Again, I truly am sorry I waited so long to write you. Let me know how your research is coming along, and do tell me if you ever ask the lovely Ms. Singh on a date (don't think I haven't noticed)!_

_Much love, Efa_

_P.S. I'm not sure which owl I'll send my letter with, but if it's Otto's owl please try to remember that it will bite if you don't feed it something (preferably sardines, or so says Gwyn), and if it's one of the school's owls it will require a payment of two sickles. I have some wizarding money stowed away for you in the desk of your study if you haven't found it already.'_

Efa blew on the parchment out of habit before remembering that she hadn't needed to after using a normal pen instead of ink and quill.

Thoroughly satisfied with a perfectly normal sounding letter, she rolled it and compacted it into a small envelope that she secured with a bit of rope twine. With a quick charm cast on the parchment to keep it water resistant, she pushed herself up from her seat and glanced towards the foggy windows.

The sun had set but there was still light lingering as dusk gave way to inky night skies. If she hurried, she could send off her letter tonight.

Mind made up, she slipped out of the common room's entrance and began her descent down the spiral staircase. She walked quickly, keeping in mind that many of the owls preferred to hunt at night. The blast of cool and humid air hit her like a slap to the face as she stepped outside the castle to make her way to the owlery. Autumn was in full swing, and a nip in the air hinted that winter temperatures might come earlier this year.

She wished that she had thought to don a jumper underneath her robes, or even just a scarf, but she did not feel she had enough time to turn around. She would just have to tough out the chilly northern air on her trek to the owlery.

It had been a while since she had followed the bridge and winding path towards the owlery, and she felt herself breathing easily on the scenic walk.

She was by herself, and solitude was often hard to come by during the school year. As nice as it was dorming amongst friends, especially when Marnie Hannigan was behaving herself, and as much as she enjoyed her classes and activities, there were very few moments where one could find themselves on their own.

She felt she could slow down and just think. There was nobody watching her, no appearances to uphold, and nothing at all to bother her. Here amongst the winding path and the owls she could just be herself.

Efa pushed open the doors to the owlery quietly, noting happily that it was empty of any non-avian lifeforms. She walked through the rows of the nocturnal birds, many of whom were now waking up and preparing themselves for their night-time routines.

She did not see Otto or Gwyn's owl, and she assumed they were either in use or had already left for their night-time hunt. It was often that her friends let her use their owls, especially Otto. He always brought his owl to school, but very rarely wrote home. Gwyn, however, wrote to her doting parents nearly every week.

Otto and his parents, as he had once explained, were not very close. He wrote home twice per term, to inform his mother of his grades and other developments. If things were not to his parent's satisfaction, then he would receive a letter in response. If they approved, there would be no response. So, he didn't mind in the slightest that Efa used his owl as much as she pleased.

But his tawny owl was not there. There was only one school owl that was currently not being used, and Efa scowled at it.

She knew this owl well. This owl was fussy and vindictive, and tried to bite chunks out of your skin if you were not fast enough in tying your letter to its leg – if you managed to catch it in the first place.

There had even been a time when this owl, known as 'Archie', had dropped a dead rat onto her breakfast plate along with her letter in her second year. She and Archie the Owl went way back, and their history together was not a pleasant one.

"We meet again, I see." Efa muttered in distaste.

The owl gave her what she perceived to be a foul glare and hooted shrilly at her, his big orange gaze seeming to say 'go ahead and try to tie that letter to my leg, I dare you'.

They had been through this drill more than once.

They waited a few moments in tense silence, neither moving a muscle and both refusing to blink. Their muscles were coiled, each ready to spring. Eventually, one of them would have to make the first move and the battle would ensue from there.

One second passed, and then another. And then, Efa lunged.

She grabbed the great and raggedy looking owl, attempting to pin its wings to its side so that it could not fly from her. Archie the Owl retaliated with gusto, using its talons to slash through the fabric of her robes on one of her arms and drawing blood in the process.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, you brute of an owl!" She yelled in frustration as she felt blood beginning to trickle down her arm. "Just take the bloody letter to my father!"

Archie screeched at her in response before digging his talons into her hair and yanking harshly.

"Ow! Stop that!"

Efa grunted as the owl flailed in her grasp, struggling with it as it screeched to high heaven. A narrow miss of the talons again as the brunette witch pulled the letter from her inner robes and tried to manoeuvre it towards its feathery legs. In her attempt to tie the letter, Archie took advantage of the moment of distraction and freed one of his wings, opening it right into her face and twisting his head around to nip at her earlobe.

She'd almost attached the envelope and was about to holler triumphantly when a noise caught her completely off guard.

"Hathaway?"

Efa turned her head to the left, momentarily distracted. That moment, however, was enough for Archie the Owl to free himself of her grasp and take flight.

.

* * *

.

Regulus Black stood rooted to the spot in the doorway of the owlery, face twisted in unconcealed surprise from watching the girl that was normally so silent and composed having a proper row with an old and ugly looking school owl. It was a strange sight to behold.

Efa Hathaway was normally so quiet, meek, and composed. Her voice was usually soft and breathy, and when she spoke he often had to focus to make sure he caught her words.

It was normal that she displayed very little of her true emotions, offering a mild disposition in nearly every situation he had seen her in so far.

Except this one.

Was this truly Efa Hathaway, shrieking at an owl as she struggled and wrestled with a feathery beast? Gone was her mild attitude and soft characteristics. Her hair was positively wild, the curls messy from her trials. Her arm was bloodied and her robes above the wound ripped.

What truly caught his attention were her eyes, though. Her eyes were showcasing some of the first emotions he believed that he had seen in them besides apprehension and guarded wariness.

The girl was upset.

"Oh, look what you did!" She accused angrily, not looking at him but at the bird that had bested her. The mangy looking owl gave one last condescending hoot from above before he disappeared into the night sky.

For a moment, he was sure she might yell back at the owl.

"I fail to see how I contributed to your current state." He stated coolly, somewhat ruffled at the fact she had addressed him so freely.

It was not her place to speak to him that way, but it seemed she had momentarily forgotten that fact.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt a sense of righteous indignation that she had dared to address him in such a manor when she was so obviously beneath him. He had never before been addressed this way by somebody below him – or even a pureblood for that matter.

However, the comical nature of the whole situation, as well as the surprise at seeing her so unbridled made it easy to ignore the whisperings. He supposed he could make an exception this one time.

This was certainly not what he had expected to find when he'd made the decision to bring his personal owl some dinner scraps.

Efa mumbled something that sounded like Welsh under her breath before replying.

"I'd have had him if you hadn't distracted me." She stated matter-of-factly, before turning her attention to herself in disgust. "Look at this. Right mess I am."

Regulus could not disagree, though the mannerisms he had been raised with prevented him from voicing his opinion aloud. Walburga Black was a stickler for proper etiquette.

She was even speaking differently, her light Welsh accent sounding thicker than normal, and her tone louder than he normally heard it. She did not sound careful and reserved like she usually did. It was almost as if he was observing a completely different person.

Perhaps this was Efa Hathaway minus her reservations.

It was then that he noticed a drop of blood fall from her index finger, likely from the wound the owl had inflicted.

He strode forward, catching her by surprise when he pulled out his wand and gently grabbed her arm in one fluid motion. She looked at him, gaze nearly as wide as the owls they were surrounded by as he continued.

"_Vulnera Sanentur" _he mumbled, pointing his wand at the deep gash on her forearm. He held her limb carefully, his grasp light and delicate.

Efa was a half-blood, or so he had heard, and even though she was mixed she still carried deep magic in her veins. It was a waste to be spilt.

With his hand on her wrist now, he suddenly remembered how he had grabbed the normally quiet witch on their first day of Potions together, and that memory was not a pleasant one for him. He had not been particularly proud of his actions, for he had acted no better than the sadistic natured Lestrange or Mulciber, who he felt he was obviously better than.

Regulus had spent the summer surrounded by those who had promised themselves to the Dark Lord upon their graduation; his group of so-called _friends_ at school, who would become his comrades in arms after seventh year.

'Friends' was what their parents called them, though each of them knew better. There was no such thing as _friends_ in the world of wizarding high society - only allies, tenuous acquaintances at best.

Mulciber, Avery, Selwyn, Yaxley, and Lestrange had already taken the Dark Mark over the summer months, and he had spent most of his time with them and their families, who taught him and trained him in the forbidden arts.

But their brutality had worn off on him, he had come to notice it the day he accidentally hurt this timid witch. He had not meant to. It was not as if he were like some of the others, or even his cousin Bellatrix, all of whom had taken pleasure in joining the muggle-murdering raids over the summer.

Regulus Black prided himself in being the image of what a proper pure-blooded heir ought to be. He prided himself in being _better_, a representation and embodiment of high society, of what others strived and only dreamt of being.

And he _was_ better, he had grown up being told so. His house was the most ancient and noble of them all. It was not simply an opinion, but a fact, and he had an image to uphold.

He was not violent by nature, not one to enjoy seeing others in pain. He was not interested in following these young men simply to take part in the suffering of others.

His reasoning for a desire to dedicate himself to the cause was not like theirs, and that thought provided him comfort, what little there was to be had of it.

Regulus believed strongly in blood purity, in self-preservation, and in the dangers that things like muggle technologies and the violence of muggle war history posed for the wizarding society. Regulus was interested in helping to create a society that closed the doors to the muggle world, effectively splitting the two worlds completely.

He had heard of their world wars, of weapons that had decimated entire metropolitan areas in mere seconds, of their deadly political regimes and selfish invasions of other countries for resources. The muggles never learned from their mistakes, they repeated them over and over.

At the time his parents were attending Hogwarts, the muggles had been involved in a war that had resulted in the deaths of millions upon millions – the death toll the highest the world had ever seen.

The smarter the muggles became, the more their weapons and greed evolved; and it was his belief that allowing muggle-born witches and wizards into their world was putting them at danger.

Witches and wizards of such detestable heritage had no place coming into their society and trying to change things and putting them all at risk. Even having them there was a threat. These strange beings were the forbidden descendants of a pureblood who had strayed from proper society somewhere down the line. It bothered him that such pure status and blood ran through the veins of those abominations.

He did not believe they deserved the magic they had been born with. They disgusted him. In his mind, they were downright filth. Degenerates. _Mudbloods_.

He did not, however, approve of the fact that some of his 'friends' murdered for sport. He did not condone the torturing of the innocent, no matter how disgusted he was by muggles and muggle-borns and anyone who sympathized with them. But he did agree that their kind, those of pure blood, were superior and deserved a world where they could live in safety and free from the influence of muggles and muggle-borns, who tainted the purity of the wizarding community.

It was those beliefs that made him idolize the promises of the Dark Lord, who had ensured a wizarding world free from the muggles and all the greed and problems that accompanied them.

Despite all this, he was not happy that the temperaments of his housemates who had taken the Mark had rubbed off on him. He had behaved no better than them when he had hurt the girl, and his gut felt queasy at the idea of him becoming more like somebody of Lestrange's inclinations, who wouldn't blink an eye at the pain of an innocent woman. In fact, Lestrange and a few others seemed to enjoy watching the pain of others.

That disturbed Regulus deeply. That was not part of his own agenda, and it was something he wanted nothing to do with. He was resolved to do what was necessary, but he had no interest in being there simply to wreak havoc and death.

So, he was purposefully as gentle as he could possibly be with her. He wanted to prove to her, in a subtle sort of way he supposed, that he was not like the others.

The blood on her arm changed its course, reversing its motions down her arm to seep back into her body as the wound closed completely. He released his gentle grip when the skin on her arm returned to the soft and unblemished flesh it had been before she'd had a run in with the owl.

"I – I could have gone to Madam Pomfrey." She mumbled, inspecting her arm before bringing it up to her chest subconsciously.

He wondered if it was the first time she had seen that particular incantation. It was not taught at the school and often associated with the darker arts.

She seemed to remember herself and who she was speaking to then, and the spark in her eyes that he had nearly laughed at earlier faded away until nothing was left but the careful apprehension he was familiar seeing there.

For a moment, he was sure he had seen the real Efa Hathaway, but that girl had retreated in on herself once more.

"I am aware." He stated simply, taking a step back as it looked like she was somewhat uncomfortable at their proximity.

"I didn't mean to yell at you earlier." She continued, dark brown gaze flitting everywhere but his face. "It's just…that bird is so infuriating."

He assessed her carefully before glancing towards the other owls who watched them with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Don't you have an owl of your own?" He asked then, the thought not occurring to him that perhaps she did not.

Every wizarding family had an owl or two unless they could not afford them. Perhaps her family was very poor. He guessed it made sense. With a squib as a father, it was likely they lived on very little income.

"No, I don't." She admitted in a voice that was much smaller than the one she had used to address him earlier.

"Use mine then." He offered cordially, using the tone his father had often used to make it so that one knew not to argue with him. "I was only coming to feed Mabon, he could use the exercise."

"Mabon?" She asked curiously. "Like the god from Welsh folklore?"

"Yes." He nodded, affirming her suspicion. "I picked the name from a book of wizarding folktales. He enjoys corned hen, so I saved some from dinner."

She watched carefully as he pulled the scraps of meat wrapped carefully in a napkin from his pocket, guarded gaze easing somewhat when she saw the evidence of his claim.

"That's very kind of you." She allowed, giving him the strangest look, as if he were some sort of puzzle she couldn't piece together.

"He's been a good friend to me over the years." Admitted the Slytherin prefect, holding out his arm and whistling a low tune. With an almost soundless fluttering of wings, Mabon appeared, landing happily on Regulus' arm and giving the young man an affectionate nuzzle. "Again, you're free to mail whatever you need. Mabon will assure it arrives safely."

As if on cue, the owl hooted softly. Regulus held the meat scraps up to the owl's beak, who gobbled them quickly.

"Thank you." She breathed, taking a few steps forward to the kindly looking bird perched on his forearm.

She had no trouble attaching the letter to Mabon's leg, for the bird was well trained and had an easy disposition.

She was close to him now as she tied the letter, close enough that he could see that her robes had seen better days. Close enough to notice that her eyes had little flecks of gold in them. Close enough to smell whatever oil she apparently used in her hair.

Lavender oil. She smelled of old books and lavender.

"Are you writing to your father?" He guessed, feeling an odd need to fill the silence between them.

She glanced at him, eyes unreadable before she answered.

"Yes, he likes to know how I get on. He'll be worried I haven't written him yet." Spoke the witch, though she revealed nothing else. "Thank you for letting me use Mabon." She added, finally securing the letter with an intricate knot he had not seen before.

"It's no trouble." He assured her.

Regulus thought on her words for a moment.

He had never once had his mother fret over him in the way that Efa's father seemed to fret over her. An interesting concept, to have someone worrying over you. It was one that was foreign to him.

Walburga Black worried of course, but not in a way that others might perceive as warm or motherly. She worried about image, society, arranging the perfect marriage for her son, and seeing to it that Regulus made up for the loss of face that Sirius had brought to their family by running off to live with blood traitors.

It all fell upon him now, and the last year since Sirius had abandoned them had been a hard one. His parents obsessed over every little thing he did, and he suddenly had the weight of the honour of his entire family dumped onto his shoulder after his father had named him the heir. And now that he was of age, there were even more legal responsibilities to see to.

His mother had been more prone to fits of rage since Sirius had left them, and Regulus, as well as poor old Kreacher, were the ones who were on the receiving end of such tirades and occasional abuses.

His back held scars that attested to her fits, though none had seen them and he would make sure that it remained that way. He'd received those horrible marks on his body the night Sirius left. His mother had been inconsolable, not that his father had tried.

He stiffened slightly, forcing those memories back down. It would not do to think of the past, for there was too much to see to in the present.

His parents did not care for 'how he was getting on', as Efa had put it. They cared only for the public image of the Black family and their position in society, and now it was Regulus' job ensure it for them.

He was his parent's last hope, the last of his line. He could not fail, it was not an option.

Though he could not help but wonder what it might feel like to have a mother or father who cared about what he got up to in school, or perhaps wrote him letters filled with kind sentiments and encouraging statements, telling him that they were looking forward to having him home for the holidays and signing their letters with love.

What a strange thought indeed.

A useless thought, he concluded, in the grander scheme of things. What use were silly sentiments when one held the world in the palm of their hand? Power and fortune was surely much more valuable.

"Are you close with him, your father?" He asked quietly, as he raised his arm to let Mabon flutter away from them. Off to somewhere in Wales, where a squib worried about his dear daughter.

Efa hesitated again, and it bothered him to see such apprehension in her guarded gaze. He would have hoped she might have learned by now that he meant her no harm. Perhaps she was intimidated by his lineage? Or perhaps she just had a skittish nature, despite what he had seen from her earlier?

He could see no reason why a half-blood would be so frightened around him and his friends. The Dark Lord had few problems with half-bloods, so long as they did not stand in his way. There were many half-bloods who had also joined their ranks, many who had made themselves useful.

Perhaps even skittish Efa Hathaway could make herself useful.

In fact, that was a thought worth entertaining. She was certainly bright enough to be of some use to the Dark Lord. Perhaps he ought to think further on the subject. Regulus could not deny that Efa Hathaway made up for a lower blood status with that brilliant mind and diligence of hers.

Such traits and assets were useful, no matter a person's background.

He had even heard that the Dark Lord had his eyes on a number of promising students in the castle; blood traitors, mudbloods, and half-bloods alike. It was for this reason that the Dark Lord had allowed some of the older students to take the Mark – he wanted eyes in the castle, eyes that would keep him updated and eyes that could scout talent he might be interested in collecting for himself.

And Regulus could not deny that the girl was talented from what he had seen of her thus far. He would need to investigate further to see if she was a potential candidate.

"Yes." She finally replied, taking a step towards the door. He followed suit, now eyeing her with more interest than before. "We're quite close, actually."

He contemplated the girl as he pushed open the squeaky wooden doors and held the decaying wood open for Efa. The witch at his side shivered as they stepped out of the owlery and into the cold and misty air.

Efa brought her long curls from her back to the front of her body, allowing them to tumble down her front side and attempting to use the thick locks of hair as a muffler of sorts.

Her wild curls reminded him very much of his less-than-stable cousin Bellatrix, who had recently married into the Lestrange family.

That was where the similarities between the two women ended, however.

Being around Bellatrix had always given him the vague sensation of tip-toeing around a sleeping dragon. They never knew how to be sure of how she might react or what things set her off. His poor cousin had always been a bit off, but had truly embraced the madness lurking within when she and her husband became Death Eaters.

He snapped out of his internal musings then, noticing that she had pulled her robes closer to her body. The evening was quite cold, and it looked like she was unprepared to face it.

His reaction was automatic. Walburga Black had beat his impeccable manners into his and Sirius' bodies when they were boys, even if Sirius had never cared to use them. For Regulus, the chivalry that was expected of a son and heir of a family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was second nature to him.

He barely thought about his action as he pulled his thick scarf from his neck and handed it to her.

"You're cold." He stated the obvious, watching at how the brunette shivered. "Take this."

Her eyes widened again, and again she hesitated. Regulus was starting to dislike how often she hesitated around him, how guarded she was in his presence. He was not a Hungarian Hornedtail, he was not going to bite her.

In fact, she ought to be grateful to him. If the Dark Lord did take an interest in her, it would be a great honour for somebody like Efa, an honour that Regulus could help to facilitate.

"I couldn't possibly-" She started to protest, but he would hear none of it.

It was the proper thing to do.

He stepped in front of her in a show of mild annoyance, looping the scarf around her neck despite her protests and claims that she was not cold at all, which were all lies of course. Even Regulus, with his thick and well-tailored robes and woollen scarf, was cold. Stupid girl.

Didn't she know that the proper response of a lady should be to accept the chivalrous action? Had she been raised in a barn? Perhaps she had, with a squib as a father.

He promptly began again, beckoning her to follow without looking back. He heard her light footsteps quickening in order to catch up with him.

"Thank you, Black-"

"Regulus." He interrupted her.

"I – what?"

"My name is Regulus, as you know." He continued coolly. "We are working closely together this year, and I would like you to call me by my first name."

He did not often offer his first name for use amongst his peers, it felt better to have vile people like Mulciber and Avery and the rest of their little group calling him by his last name. He preferred the distance of using last names when they were involved.

Efa was not, however, affiliated with those who he spent most of his time with, and they would be seeing so much of each other until the end of the year. Therefore, he felt it most appropriate to use first names. It felt better, more natural, and he hoped she would take it as a sign he was not going to hex her while her back was turned, as she apparently seemed to think he might.

"You'll call me Efa, then?" She asked slowly, though she had not protested, which he was grateful for.

"If you will allow it."

"Sure." Voiced the Ravenclaw prefect after a careful moment of deliberation. "Thank you, Regulus. You've been generous."

"Borrowing a scarf and using my owl is hardly generous." He scoffed, because he truly believed his statement to be true. What he had offered her was insignificant.

"Your kindness has been generous." She elaborated, to which he arched a brow at hearing, looking at her through the side of his eyes.

"Do you believe me to be an un-kind person?" He questioned loftily.

"I don't believe I know you well enough to assume one way or another." She responded, and though it had not been the answer he expected, he was interested to hear her honest response. "No offense…"

"None taken." He offered neutrally, and she gave a small nod.

They continued a few minutes without speaking, enjoying the sound of the wind rushing through the leaves and needles of evergreen trees. Efa eventually stopped shivering with the scarf wrapped around her neck.

As they neared the entrance of the castle, he raised a question, voice husky from the cold air in his lungs.

"Have you given any thought to the competition?"

He might have imagined it, but he thought he could have spied the slightest flash of a spark in her dark eyes.

"I have." She replied, suddenly sounding less reserved than before. "I've listed a few theories and ideas in a notebook since we spoke. Have you?"

It was easy to see she was excited about the competition. Most Ravenclaws, in his experience, tended to get competitive in the academic field, so this came as no surprise.

"I've been thinking about what types of potions would give us an edge over the other teams." He admitted, brows pinching as he thought of the other teams who had also entered. "Our biggest competitor will be Severus Snape, it will be hard to outperform him. That's why I think that if we take a route that's unique or unheard of, it might serve us well."

"I was thinking the same." Admitted the witch with an underlying and suppressed tone of excitement. "I came across something in my Alchemy readings that I thought could be potentially beneficial, but I don't know much about it. I'll need to do some research."

Regulus was surprised to hear her mention the Alchemy class. Even he had not made it into this year's alchemy elective, with its limited seats reserved for the most diligent students. This girl at his side continued to surprise him.

"And what is that?" He questioned, interest piqued.

"Blood magic." She replied, and her eyes held a sort of confidence that made him think that perhaps she had already delved into research on her own. "Everyone is always looking forward for the newest and latest magical discoveries, but I thought it could be interesting to take a hint from some of the most ancient magic that ever existed – even before wands. Nobody's bothered with it for centuries since wands became more commonplace, but my own studies in alchemy reference it every now and again. It's only a theory though."

He pondered over her words as they started down the long and narrow bridge that led towards the castle.

Ancient magic indeed.

He knew very little of blood magic. It was taught briefly in History of Magic but never in-depth. Blood magic, runes, potions, alchemy, and things of that nature were what witches and wizards of many centuries past had used before the first wands had been created to allow them to focus and project their magic.

In those dark days there had been so very few ways of channelling magic without the help of wands, and only the most talented could use magic to project spells by hand.

Blood magic had been women's work, their ancient ancestors paving the way for the evolution of harnessing their potential. Much of that history was lost, seen as irrelevant now that they had come so far in magical innovation. It was backwards, archaic, and generally perceived to be nothing worth noting outside of a historical context. He wondered what she might have come across to suggest otherwise.

Blood magic was also said to be somewhat unstable, which would mean incorporating it into their potion would be tricky.

It was a unique approach, however, one that would capture the attention of those judging the competition. Regulus could not deny that it had caught his as well.

"An interesting theory." He conceded after a few moments of thought. "I doubt we'll be able to find much about it outside of a historical context, though. Unless we're granted access to the restricted section."

Her face seemed to fall a fraction at the dilemma.

"I hadn't thought of that…" She trailed off unhappily. "Hardly anyone gets permission."

"I'm sure Professor Slughorn could be _persuaded_." He chose his words carefully as he suggested the idea that had just popped into his mind.

He didn't want to call it manipulation, but he felt certain that if he offered the professor an invitation to his family's Christmas soiree, then he could get just about anything out of the man. It was a classic Slytherin move, the cunning idea coming easily to him.

Horace Slughorn would do anything for a claim to fame, or a way to obtain the good graces of the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It would be easy to get what he needed from the man, he was positive that they would be able to have him sign off a notice for them to gain access to the restricted section. All he had to do was dangle the bait.

"You think so?"

"Come prepared tomorrow. They won't let us take the books out from the restricted section, but we can take notes from them." He assured.

He did not miss how her eyes gleamed at the idea of gaining access to the restricted section.

Regulus was not too excited himself. His extensive family library at home shelved a vast collection of books that delved into topics that would have either been locked in the restricted section or banned from the school altogether. His family was very well-educated in the dark arts, as well as many other eclectic areas of magic.

He had grown up reading such books, developing a fascination for the forbidden. He wondered what Efa Hathaway thought about such topics.

They came to a halt after entering the main courtyard underneath the astronomy tower. This was where they would part ways. Regulus would travel to the dungeons, to the dark and mystical looking common room under the lake, and Efa would climb upwards, to the tower where their common room and dormitories overlooked the whole of the school.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you again." She offered awkwardly, shifting on her feet in uncertainty before slinking away into the shadows of the nearest corridor in a hasty retreat.

The girl had all but vanished before he could say 'you're welcome'.

It was then that he realised that she had forgotten to return his scarf. It was no matter, though. She would likely remember and bring it to the library tomorrow. He was not worried about that.

He did wonder, though…would it smell of old books and lavender when she returned it?

.

* * *

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**Reviews!**

**Guest (Lyanna) - **Here's a bit more insight to the competition you were hoping for! Ask and you shall receive, haha. Efa likely won't be going to a muggle university any time soon, but I always thought it would be interesting if witches or wizards did both! Peter Pettigrew is fascinating, I do agree. I'm can't wait to write his betrayal later!

**Guest - **I'm glad you caught that! I love a good premonition, I couldn't help myself. I'm happy to see that the characterisation is coming on alright, Regulus is fairly complex and I'm constantly worrying I'm not doing him justice!

**Scars from the sun - **I'm happy you like the Welsh heritage! And yes, poor Remus...but I love Tonks far too much to deprive him of her later on down the road. I really like Sirius and James as well, and I do plan to incorporate them, so don't worry too much! They're just too fun not to keep bringing back in, you know?

**Wikked - **I agree. Character development is also one of my favourite things to write in a story. I love the slow transformations. Thank you for your continual reviews!


	6. Chapter 6

_October, 1977_

_._

Efa poked at one of the vegetables on her plate, scooting the small spiced carrot around in indiscernible patterns.

She had just finished a class that had seemed much longer than it was, and was now sitting in the great hall, slumped over a half-finished meal and absentmindedly pushing morsels of food around her plate with a fork as she remained deep in thought.

David Kim and Gwyn were sitting across from her, having an aggressive conversation about which quidditch league team would win the playoffs this year. Gwyn apparently thought that her personal favourite, the Montrose Magpies, would be claiming victory, but David remained avowed that this would be the year that the Falmouth Falcons would make a comeback from a disastrous previous season.

Personally, Efa preferred the Holyhead Harpies, but that was only because they were a Welsh team and she felt obliged to support her countrymen. The seeker for the Harpies was also very nice on the eyes in her opinion, but Efa would have never admitted that aloud to anyone.

She was not joining their conversation today, however. Her mind was many leagues away, her thoughts flitting between the subjects of blood magic, the restricted section, and alchemy. Today was a day she had always hoped might come. Today she and Regulus would spend the evening in the restricted section.

Efa could only imagine what types of books and content were hidden away in the elusive and enigmatic area of the library that she had only ever dreamt of entering.

Now, it was a dream come true. She could hardly count the times she had fantasized of perusing the books and manuscripts that lay there collecting dust. She had tried pestering Professor Flitwick for years, but their head of house had never given in and refused to show favouritism, even though Efa was, undoubtedly, one of his favourites.

It was likely she was not the first Ravenclaw lusting after forbidden knowledge that he had encountered, nor would she be the last.

What things would she learn today? What secrets were hidden there? Efa would come to know this evening, but she still had her Herbology class to get through first before she would meet Regulus in the library. Hopefully he would have procured their permission pass as he had promised the night before in the owlery.

How he would manage that feat, she didn't know. Professor Flitwick had remained firm, refusing to bend the rules even for Efa. How would Regulus possibly manage to convince Slughorn to grant him access?

Surely Slughorn also abided by the same rules Professor Flitwick was bound to.

Then again…it was Horace Slughorn she was thinking of, and Regulus was the heir to one of the most ancient and powerful houses in Britain, as well as the Continent.

The fame of House Black was well known in nearly every corner of the world. That family had been prominent and powerful for centuries, never losing or ebbing to the flow of time and shifting political dynamics.

They had survived wars, betrayals, the Great Witch Hunts, and nearly every trial and tribulation of wizarding history. Their family was a pillar to magical society, one that demanded respect and reverence.

She really ought to have guessed. With a cunning Slytherin attitude and such a powerful surname, Slughorn was hardly more than putty in Regulus' hands – soft and pliable, willing to do anything to curry favour with the elite or those he saw potential in. Slughorn's sense of self-preservation was a very Slytherin trait, after all.

Suddenly, her mood shifted.

She tried hard not to let things like this bother her, but there were so many instances where she would naturally have the short end of the stick. Efa had no powerful family name, no ties to the wizarding world that she or her father knew of, and no advantages besides what she had worked to achieve.

Some might call her obsessive about her need to be the best in academics, and she could hardly disagree with them. It was a complex and vanity of sorts that she had developed over the years, her need to silently prove to herself that she was just as capable as any pureblood.

There were, of course, many professors in their school who were sympathetic or showed no preference towards those of similar situations as Efa, but it was not so out in the real world, where there was a war raging as she sat and pushed vegetables around her plate.

And then there were people like Regulus Black, who only needed to drop their name and a hint and they could have just about any door opened for them.

Though she supposed that people like Regulus and his family likely had their own brand of troubles, troubles that were very different from the kind she faced but troubles all the same.

Everyone had troubles of their own, and even Efa, in her current state of moodiness, could understand that.

"-fa? Efa, are you with us? Effie, it's time to go!"

Gwyn's voice brought her back to reality, and the curly haired witch blinked rapidly as she met her friend's blue eyes and freckled face.

"What?"

Gwyn shared an amused look with David, who only shook his head.

"I don't know how I keep coming in behind you in class when you've always got your head in the clouds." Chuckled David Kim. "What's got you so deep in thought?"

"Probably that Alchemy class of hers." Answered Gwyn with a forlorn sigh. "I'm still jealous I didn't get in."

"Blimey, Hathaway-" Muttered David as Efa stood as well to join them. "You got a spot in Alchemy? This is the third year in a row I didn't make the cut. Say, you wouldn't be opposed to sharing some of your notes, would you?"

"Sure. I'll just need them back before next Friday if you don't mind." Agreed Efa amiably.

She'd always liked David Kim. He was a kind person, and he was the one who always helped her in organizing and leading their sixth-year study group held on Monday evenings. He also provided snacks during their study groups, and anybody who provided free food, in Efa's mind, had to be a good person.

"Thanks, Hathaway, I'll get them from you later. I don't want to be late for Arithmancy." He stated, taking one last hurried sip from his goblet before swinging his book satchel over his shoulder, giving Gwyn a harsh pat on the back and loping forward.

"Always in a rush, that one." Laughed Gwyn as the two girls watched him go.

"I've heard that the new Arithmancy professor from Estonia gives out more detentions than any other professor. I'd be running too if it were me." Efa remarked in amusement as David dashed off. "What do you have next?"

"Ancient Runes." Gwyn's face fell, the amusement vanishing in an instant. "Otto's my partner for a project we're working on. Maybe I'll just skive."

"No you won't." Remarked Efa in complete assurance.

"And how are you so sure?"

"Because you haven't missed a single class since you caught Black Cat Flu." Reminded Efa with a small laugh at the memory. "And that was _ages_ ago."

It had been their second year, and Gwyn was so sick she could hardly sit up without vomiting. Yet in true Ravenclaw spirit, the sickly girl had insisted on going to class. She'd tried to sneak out of the hospital wing thrice before an agitated Madame Pomfrey had finally drugged her tea with a potent sleeping draught to make sure she stayed put and didn't infect any of the other students.

"Don't call me Gwyneth!" Groaned the girl, who hated the use of her full name. "I'll skive, just watch me."

"That's a lie and you know it."

Gwyn frowned, but did not retaliate.

Efa bit back a sigh. This had gone on long enough. She hated getting involved in conflict, normally turning tail at any sign of disturbance because it was in her nature to feel uncomfortable with confrontation, but this disagreement between her two best friends had run its course.

"Can't you just make peace with him already? It's been weeks, Gwyn."

"No."

"But-"

"Nope."

"_Gwyn_."

"No!"

"Both of you are acting like children." Grumbled Efa. "You'll have to work it out eventually, you know."

"We'll see about that." Replied Gwyn dubiously, her scowl morphing into a hesitant smile as Efa gave her a playful nudge. "I'll see you tonight?"

They had stopped at the bottom of a staircase, knowing it was where the two would part ways. From somewhere far down the corridor, Efa heard a horrified screech and Peeves' echoing laughter. Both girls grimaced in unison at the sound of it.

"Probably not until late." Admitted the brunette. "I've got some research related things to take care of and then patrols."

"Alchemy?" Guessed Gwyn.

"Something of the sort." Efa replied evasively.

"Let's have a cuppa in the common room when you get back, yeah?"

"Sure, but it'll be late. You can head off to bed if you get too tired." Efa warned, but Gwyn only waved her hand, unbothered.

"You know I don't mind. Besides, we haven't had any decent girl time since we got back. I'll wait up." Assured her friend, and Efa could only smile as the two girls bid each other farewell and began their treks to their respective classrooms.

It was true. They had both been busy with the start of the sixth year; Gwyn with her quidditch practices and Efa with her prefect duties.

The cup of tea with Gwyn was something she would look forward to, a perfect way to wind down after a long day, especially after spending a study session and patrols with Regulus Black. Every time she patrolled with him, she would come back to the Ravenclaw dormitories feeling frazzled and on edge, her entire body feeling like one great big ball of nerves in the strangest way.

The young man unnerved her, and she was constantly careful with her words and actions in his presence. Or, she had been up until the prior evening.

Efa was still kicking herself for such a show of emotions in front of the pureblood heir the night before. She had even addressed him in anger, accusing him of being the reason as to why that horrible owl had gotten away from her. It had not taken her long to realise the proportion of the error she had made in addressing him that way. She had been horrified with herself, and nervous about what type of reaction he might have.

Though to her immense surprise, he seemed to find great amusement in both the situation and her attitude, which had left her feeling slightly baffled.

Instead of anger at being talked to that way by somebody lesser than him, he'd responded with a genteel and cordial manner, behaving like some sort of perfect gentleman from an Austen novel.

She'd made no mistake in misinterpreting his actions, of course. They were not warm, and they had not been done out of care on a personal level. She felt completely assured it had been a show of the mannerisms he had been raised with.

Even so, it had shocked her.

Instead of responding to her in a way she imagined one of his friends might have, he had instead healed her wound, offered her his owl for her use, and insisted she use his scarf. That had not been what she expected at all, and she still remained confused as to why he had let her speak to him in such a manor.

She couldn't figure him out. No matter how Efa tried, she couldn't read him, and she failed to understand him on a more personal level.

Which side of him was it – the cold and aloof young man who had bruised her wrist, the haughty and self-important pureblood, the boy who spoke of quidditch with a passion, or the gentle and polite Regulus Black she had encountered last night in the owlery?

Was it possible he embodied all of these things? Perhaps some of it was an act and some of it real, but if so, which parts?

Efa shook her head, curls swaying as she did so.

This train of thought was getting her nowhere. What did it matter what she thought of him or what he thought of her? Reflecting on Regulus Black made her mind swarm with questions that she did not have answers for, and she felt no sense of peace trying to put him together like the thousand piece puzzles she and her father enjoyed.

It was then, as she was trying to clear her mind of the conflicting thoughts surrounding Regulus, that his older brother's voice could be heard as the Marauders of Hogwarts rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and continued towards her.

James was making some sort of impression, one that Efa had a sinking suspicion was supposed to be of Severus Snape, and Sirius was yelling loudly between fits of laughter about something or another. Remus was also laughing, and the Pettigrew boy was making some sort of horrible sputtering sound that only vaguely sounded like a snicker.

With these boys, you always heard them before you saw them.

Efa skidded to a halt, her stomach sinking as a sense of 'fight or flight' kicked in. They had not seen her yet, she could still turn around and make a bolt for it. She did not have the patience to deal with these boys today, especially James and Sirius, who looked a bit more riled up than normal.

Remus and Peter she could handle, but when the other two got too excited and began their mischief, that was when she felt it best to go unseen.

Flight it was, she decided.

Efa pivoted sharply, deciding quickly to take a longer route towards the Herbology greenhouses so that she could avoid them. She had only just turned around, however, when a voice rang out in the corridor.

"Oi, Bookworm!" Called James, and Efa debated whether it was worth splinching herself trying to apparate within school grounds. "C'mere! Moony's got something he wants to ask you!"

Perhaps she could run? She doubted they would follow, she was not worth their time. Or maybe she could practice the concealment charm she had learned last year in Charms class?

Or maybe there was a bathroom nearby she could momentarily duck into?

"D'you think she didn't hear you, Prongs? Maybe if I transfigure her ears into bat ears then-"

Facing the facts that she had been spotted and unable to make a getaway, she turned, attempting to keep her neutral features from melting into a scowl. Efa was not keen on having her ears transfigured, and she knew Sirius was not joking.

He was quite good at transfiguration, as loathed as she was to admit it. He had given Maxine Parkinson a dog snout for a nose that had looked very realistic on the first day back at school.

The Ravenclaw did not move from her position though, despite being beckoned. She was not their sheep dog, she did not answer their call. If Remus had something to say to her, he could very well traverse the space between them and say it.

Remus, seeing that Efa was not budging from her spot, and after having James give him a harsh shove forward, started towards the curly-haired witch. Her face was deceptively serene, but he saw the flash of annoyance in her eyes that his friends often missed.

Efa bit the insides of her cheeks as he approached, attempting to ignore how the three boys he had just left behind were making obnoxious kissing sounds and pretending to swoon.

Didn't they ever get tired of being so bothersome?

"I'm sorry about them, Efa, you know how they get." Remus apologized immediately upon stopping in front of her, knowing that she was likely cross with their taunting.

"And here I thought I remembered you saying that they had matured since last year?" Efa mumbled, crossing her arms self-consciously across her chest as James Potter clutched dramatically at his heart and gave a loud, girlish sigh in the background.

How in the world had James Potter made head boy this year? What had Dumbledore been thinking?

"Yes, well," He glanced back at his friends with a pointed glare, which was received with more chortling laughter. "It's a work in progress."

Efa felt the tips of her lips twitching upwards despite her annoyance at the situation.

"Was there something you needed, Remus?" She asked, eager to leave, or at least to get away from prying eyes and the sudden onset of chaos and testosterone.

"Er, yes, as a matter of fact." He glanced back at his friends once more before meeting her gaze. His face looked a bit pink, and Efa felt her brows pinching together in concern.

"Are you alright? Not unwell, I hope?"

"I'm alright, sorry, just a bit hot in here."

It was not hot in the corridor.

In fact, it was rather cool and draughty. Efa found herself wishing she had thought to bring Regulus' warm scarf to Herbology, but she did not want to dirty it before returning it to him later in the evening.

"I was wondering if you'll be going to Hogsmeade next Saturday?" He stated, though his words were so quick and rushed that she had a hard time making them out.

"Oh," She answered in return, not having expected the sudden question. "Yes, I had planned on it. Will you be going?"

"That's what I wanted to ask." He rushed, the flush on his cheeks now darkening. "You see – well – I was wondering if – and you don't have to say yes, but – I – _er_ – doyouwanttogotogether?"

Efa blinked owlishly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last bit." She said, looking at him oddly. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade together? With me?" He repeated, this time in a steadier tone and holding her gaze unblinkingly.

Efa was sure he must be ill.

Why was he so worked up about such an insignificant question? He had accompanied her and her friends to Hogsmeade before, this was not something innovative or new. Perhaps he had a fever? That would certainly explain the erratic behaviour and flushed face.

"Yes, that's fine." She paused a moment, seeming to debate with herself before lowering her voice and asking a question. "Will _they_ be there too?"

"No!" He answered quickly, so quickly that it startled her. "No, it would just be us."

"Oh, but what about Otto and Gwyn?"

"I – er – well, I had thought it might be nice if it was just the two of us, you see. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

Efa considered it a moment before nodding slowly. She was sure that Gwyn and Otto would be fine without her, though they would no doubt miss her company.

It could be pleasant to spend the afternoon with Remus. She was rather curious about how his classes and employment searches were coming along, and they hardly had much of a chance to speak just between the two of them these days, what with his friends and her friends always hanging around.

"I guess that's alright." She conceded mildly. "I'll see you next Saturday then? By the gates?"

"That would be wonderful." He breathed, before frowning slightly and continuing. "But, Efa, are you sure you understood what I meant by it just being the two of us-"

A bell tolled from clock tower then, and Efa snapped her head towards the doors that led out to the grounds and down to the greenhouses.

"Oh no…" She spoke, cutting him off with a soft gasp. "I'm late for Herbology. I'll see you next Saturday!"

Efa rushed past him without waiting for a response. He would understand. She was rarely late for class, and even though Professor Sprout often overlooked tardiness, it was not in Efa's nature to arrive late to lessons. It gave her a horrible rush of anxiety to draw attention by entering a classroom after a lecture had already started.

She was hardly concerned with the hoots and noises the rest of the Marauders made as she raced past them and down the corridor.

Efa was late, and she did not have the time to contemplate why Remus and his friends were acting so peculiarly.

.

* * *

.

She stood quietly, like a child in front of a sweets store, drooling at the treats in the display window. Except, in this case, the display window was the restricted section and the sweets were books – glorious, forbidden books.

The brunette witch drummed her fingers against her arms impatiently. Regulus was late. By six minutes.

Efa had been there for thirty minutes already, peering at the books inside like an impatient child. She had come early in the off chance that he also arrived early, though he had not. She knew it was silly to be this excited over something of this nature, but she had not felt this giddy in ages. She hadn't even been this excited when her father had announced they would be spending their summer holiday in Sweden on an archaeological dig.

She pressed her face against the bars, scanning over the spines of the ancient looking books, trying to see if she could make out any of the titles. Many of the books were covered in a thick layer of dust.

One book near the entrance read 'Forbidden Dark Curses and other Dastardly Ailments'. Yet another title she managed to make out was 'The Art of Poisoning', and the one next to that 'Introduction to Mental Possession'.

Efa shivered, but her curiosity still raged like a wild fire. Even though a few of the books were obviously about dark magic and other such forbidden things, she wouldn't mind perusing the pages. Solely for academic purposes, of course. She wanted to _know_, to _learn_, and she wanted to see it all – both the good and the bad.

Her curiosity would get her in trouble one day, of that she had no doubt.

Efa bounced on the balls of her feet, the motion small, but an indicator of her impatience. Her features were as mild and neutral as they usually were, but her heart pounded in anticipation and her mind whirled with possibilities. She was so _close_. She could see the books there, but they were just beyond her reach.

"Efa, I see you're ready."

She could have squealed in excitement at hearing his voice and spying the set of keys in his hand when she spun to meet his eyes.

Instead, she only dipped her head in calm acknowledgement, the only indication that she was somewhat restless to begin their research the drumming of her fingers against her forearm.

"Yes, did you get the pass?"

He held the keys up in front of him, letting the brass pieces jingle together as an answer. His face was also neutral, but his eyes seemed to smile, or perhaps she had just imagined it.

It was not important, anyhow, not when there were books to read.

He moved past her, inserting the longest and oldest looking of the keys into the lock on the metal gate of the restricted section. A few pairs of incredulous eyes were on them, students looking on in shock and envy as Regulus unlocked the door. It creaked loudly as it opened, and Efa had to use every ounce of self-restraint to keep from bolting straight inside.

Instead, she walked calmly, pulling out parchment and writing utensils as she entered the section and heard Regulus close the metal gate behind them.

Efa immediately sat down on the cold floor, setting up her inkwell and unrolling her parchment so that she could transcribe and take notes on whatever they found that might be of use to them. Regulus gave her a look of approval when he saw the stack of parchment she had come prepared with.

"Shall we begin?" He intoned, the low baritone of his voice confined to the small corridor of books. He offered her his hand, extending it to where she sat after she had set up her impromptu writing station.

Efa could not help the grin that tugged at her lips as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

.

* * *

.

"I've found another reference to '_Sanguinem Vinculum' _in Hjalmar's work."

Regulus traced a slender finger over the surface of the scroll he was reading, face scrunched in concentration as Efa looked up at his announcement. The Ravenclaw prefect surveyed him quietly, as his brows furrowed further together while he attempted to decipher the foreign script he was reading. She picked up her quill, dipping it quickly in ink and setting her wrist atop heavily used parchment.

"What year?" Efa asked softly.

"1029"

"And in what context?"

"Tribal warfare among the Magyar people. Modern day Hungary, I think." He answered distractedly, already back to perusing the ancient scroll in his lap.

Efa hummed, taking down the information in a quick scrawl before placing her quill back down and returning to her own book.

They were back to sitting on the floor, legs crossed as they delved into their studies. Efa was taking extensive notes on anything even remotely relevant to the topic of blood magic, but specifically, on the subject of _Sanguinem Vinculum, _or, in modern day English, ancient magical blood bonds.

It was something they had been able to find little information on, but one that they had agreed might be useful to continue looking into. As of now, they had no concrete ideas about what their final product might look like or what it would be used for, but they had agreed that studying blood bonds would be an interesting place to start.

Blood bonds, based on what they had found so far, had been used extensively among ancient wizarding communities across the world.

It had been a ritual used for marriages, where a bride and groom from two different tribes would strengthen tribal alliances not only by marriage, but through unification of blood and their magic as well. The couple would perform the blood bond, using ancient blood magic to unite their magic together as they became one in marital union.

It was also used in warfare; allies would perform blood bonds with each other to strengthen their magic and make an unbreakable alliance, which usually helped them to be a stronger force in battle.

They had discovered it was used in dire times too, as a tool for survival when all other options had been exhausted and the situation was desperate. Two people could perform a blood bond to draw upon each other's strength and magical ability in order to survive something.

It had even been used to bring someone back from the brink of death.

One theme that remained constant, however, was that a blood bond used to siphon magic or energy between two people was one that was irreversible. It was a lifetime bond, ending only in death. Hence, there were few examples of it. It was not a type of magic one would engage in lightly.

However, the examples they had found, though all very intriguing, lacked any information beyond the simple fact that such rituals had simply existed. There was no information available from what they had seen about how the rituals were constructed and enacted.

Regulus hummed softly to himself suddenly, seeming to take interest in something he had read. He had been doing that here and there over the last few hours, making little noises as he read. She didn't think he was aware he was even making them.

Efa didn't mind. In fact, she was curious to know what had caught his attention.

She was extremely grateful for Regulus' help. She had not realized that most of the older texts would be written completely in ancient Latin or Greek, even some in Arabic – all languages that Regulus had received private tutoring in from a young age and was able to decipher. Efa felt both very impressed and somewhat jealous of the fact he was more useful than she was in that area.

Efa herself was sticking to alchemical texts and any historical texts in English or Gaelic languages. They had split the workload between the two of them based on their respective understandings of different texts and subjects. All in all, it was a system that was working well for them.

"What time is it?" Mumbled Regulus after some time had passed, still absorbed in a scroll filled with beautifully flowing Maghrebi Arabic script.

Efa was so deep in her own heavy book and readings that she responded before she thought about it.

"Time for you to get a watch."

"I'm sorry?"

Efa looked up with a startled expression, meeting Regulus' equally confused gaze.

She hadn't meant for that to slip out. It was a common joke her and her father made, and she had been so distracted that she had muttered the first thing that came to her mind.

"Sorry." She apologized sheepishly. "That's a joke my father and I make a lot, I wasn't thinking."

A moment of silence passed between them before his lips twitched and understanding fell over his features.

"I see." He murmured quietly. "I haven't heard that one before."

Of course he hadn't. It was a muggle joke.

She did not voice that thought aloud.

Efa glanced down at her small silver wristwatch, a magical watch she had received from Otto for her birthday the year prior. She could tap it with her wand and ask for the time in different places, or even lunar and solar phases, months, seconds - just about anything really.

"It's half past nine." She announced.

"Patrols start soon."

Efa nodded slowly, feeling her disappointment bubbling to the surface.

"Time went by so fast." The curly haired witch lamented unhappily. "Will we be able to come back or was the pass from Professor Slughorn a one-time thing?"

"We should be able to have access once a week at a set time." He supplied as he carefully began to roll the scroll back up. "We've missed dinner though. The great hall is closed now, but I'm sure the elves in the kitchen would be happy to accommodate us before our patrols. Are you hungry?"

Her initial response was to say no on instinct, but her stomach beat her to it, letting off a soft rumble that did not go unnoticed by her grey-eyed companion.

"I suppose I could eat something." Admitted Efa in slight embarrassment.

She was loathed to shelf the books back and exit the restricted section as they gathered their things to leave.

Efa could have spent the entire night there reading by candlelight if she had been allowed, though she was certain that Madam Pince would not have allowed it. The crow-like woman had been displeased by the fact they had been given access to it in the first place, and it was often that Madam Pince had to force Efa out of the library when it was time to close it for the evening.

A girl had to eat though, and she had always been curious about the kitchens after all the times Remus had talked of them.

The pair conversed quietly as they travelled through the corridors and down to the kitchens, discussing the things they had read and what theories or ideas they had thought of from their first evening of research.

For a moment, however brief it might have been, Efa forgot who their families were and from which classes of wizarding society they hailed from. For a moment, they had just been two students working on a project, discussing theory and history.

For a moment, Efa just let herself be.

.

* * *

.

"Wait, wait, wait." Demanded Gwyn, stirring her tea with a small silver spoon as she narrowed her eyes at Efa.

The two girls were alone in the common room, the rest of their housemates sleeping peacefully in the dormitories. It was late, extremely late, and Efa knew she was going to be exhausted the next day. The chit chat over tea with Gwyn, however, was worth the exhaustion they were sure to face in the morning.

She could always nap before patrols tomorrow, but for now, she was enjoying herself.

"He asked you to Hogsmeade next Saturday?"

"Uh-huh." Nodded Efa, taking a sip of her own tea.

The tea itself was not anything particularly delightful, just the cheap bags she had brought from home, but it hit the spot all the same.

"And it will just be you two?"

"Yes."

"Alone? Together?" Gwyn asked, her eyebrows rising in what looked to be astonishment.

"That's what he said." Efa confirmed slowly, giving her friend a strange look from her cosy spot curled up in an arm chair in her pyjamas.

The witch in the armchair opposite her slung her a nonplussed look at the prefect, looking a mix of exasperated and unimpressed with her answer.

"You know, for someone who consistently makes top marks, you're downright dense in a non-academic setting." Remarked Gwyn, shaking her head with a subtle roll of her eyes.

Efa took offense to that, frowning at the statement voiced.

"Excuse me?"

Gwyn sighed dramatically, leaning forward and speaking with amusement lacing her tone.

"He's asked you on a date, Effie! Isn't it obvious?"

Efa's frown twisted further.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"How is that ridiculous?" Cried Gwyn animatedly. "You said it yourself he was flustered and flushed, he said it would just be you two, _and_ he went out of his way to ask you like that. Of course it's a date!"

"But-" Efa clamped her mouth shut then, as all the facts came together in her mind. "_Oh_…oh no."

Gwyn let out a shrill peal of laughter at Efa's sudden realisation about the events of the afternoon.

"Honestly, Efa!" She choked between fits of laughter. "What did you think he meant? I'm surprised it took him this long to ask, actually."

"A date-?" Efa repeated to herself, voice bordering panic now. "But why? I don't – why would he ask me on a date? What do people even do on dates?"

Gwyn was laughing even harder now.

"Don't you laugh at me, Gwyneth Roberts." Muttered Efa with a sulk, sipping at her tea with a glare in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'll stop." Replied the auburn-haired witch in an attempt to appease the sulking prefect, though her eyes still sparkled with laughter. "I imagine you'll do all the things we normally do when we go to Hogsmeade, just without extra company. I don't think he's the type to expect anything more from you than some hand-holding."

"So that's it?" Asked Efa nervously, rotating her tea cup in her hands nervously as she considered it. "We'll just do things like grab a butterbeer or visit the shops? What was your date with David Kim like last year?"

"Absolutely ghastly." She relayed nonchalantly. "But only because we both knew we didn't really fancy each other that way. We tried to force it because other people kept saying we'd make a cute couple. I'm sure it would be different with you and Remus, what with his feelings for you and all."

"Feelings?" asked Efa incredulously. "You think he has _feelings_ for me?"

"Merlin, Effie." Groaned Gwyn. "You really are blind to everything but your studies. That poor bloke has fancied you since third year at least. He wouldn't have asked you if he didn't have some sort of emotional inclination."

Efa had not realised her jaw was hanging open until it began to ache. She snapped it shut, unable to form words in the moment.

"And he's not a bad guy." Continued Gwyn in contemplation. "Kind and handsome. Those friends of his are another story, but I say they're worth overlooking in this case."

"Do you really think I should go?" Asked Efa, continuing to fiddle with her tea cup as the liquid inside grew cool. "I didn't realize it was a date when I accepted the invitation, and I don't know if I feel anything for him other than friendship. Would it be unfair to go? What if we ruin our friendship?"

"David and I are still good friends, aren't we? It's not the end of the world if things don't work out, you know. It's bloody awkward for a while, but it goes back to normal." She argued in return. "You should go, have some fun, live a little!"

"But, Gwyn, I don't know the first thing about this kind of stuff. What if-"

"You don't need to _know_, you just need to have _fun_." Interrupted Gwyn, before her tone took a more somber note to it. "And besides…I have a feeling that moments like these, little bits of fun and ease, they're going to be harder to come by soon. You should live as much as you can before-"

Gwyn did not finish her sentence, seemingly unable to speak the words aloud. Efa quieted then, swallowing the protest that was on the tip of her tongue.

Efa nearly asked 'before what?', but she kept her mouth closed. She had a feeling she knew what the end to Gwyn's statement was, and it was not a happy one.

It was all too common these days that her friends and fellow students talked like this. As if they knew they might not survive the tough times ahead.

Efa supposed it was probably a very practical way of thinking, a type of survival or coping mechanism that made dealing with their uncertain and grim futures a little easier.

Nothing was guaranteed for them; not jobs, not safety, not their futures, not even their lives. Even the students at Hogwarts were beginning to realise that as the war took a turn for the worse.

A moment of grim silence fell over them.

"How much do you think this war will take from us?" Asked Efa quietly.

Gwyn contemplated a moment, giving her tea an absentminded stir.

"I suppose that depends on how much we're willing to give it. People are choosing sides or making a run for it, and I doubt it will be much longer before we'll have to do the same."

"And you?" Whispered Efa, meeting the apprehensive gaze of her dorm mate. "Do you know what you'll choose?"

"I reckon I've an idea." She replied. "My cousins, the Prewett twins, they're Molly's older brothers, do you remember my cousin Molly?" Gwyn continued when Efa gave her a firm nod. "Word has it they've joined…_you know_…" She made a vague gesture with her free hand, but the unspoken meaning was clear.

Two of her cousins had joined the resistance, and Gwyn would likely be following them if Efa knew her at all.

"Molly and her husband have decided not to get involved, but I just…I don't know how I could live with myself if I didn't. If _he_ wins, we're all as good as dead. Don't you think trying to stop that from happening is worth it? Don't you want to fight back?"

Efa grimaced, her hands giving a small tremor as she thought about it.

"I don't want to think about it." She murmured.

"You're going to have to." Intoned Gwyn seriously. "We won't be able to run from it much longer. I don't want to delude myself into thinking we'll all live happily ever after without having to make sacrifices."

"I know." Efa breathed, feeling the weight of their troubles weighing heavily on her shoulders. "I just wish there were more options than fight, surrender, or run."

Gwyn gave a soft laugh at that, though the sound was devoid of any real humour.

"Don't we all?"

.

* * *

.

**Reviews!**

**Guest (Lyanna) - **I actually headcanon Evan Rosier and Regulus as friends too! Just in a strained sort of way, like they both know they have to put duties before personal relationships. I always imagined the Slytherin pureblood kids as knowing they could never have the same deep friendships they saw with a lot of other kids, because their parents might be choosing their friends, and they all likely know that their duties and responsibilities come before personal sentiments. It's sad, but I actually did write Evan and Regulus as friends later in this story!

**Kelana-ti - **I'm glad it came out okay! It was surprisingly easier to write than I thought it might be. Sometimes Efa is hard to write because she's so book smart but not very street smart and always has her head in the clouds, which is not like me at all, haha. But I am excited to write Regulus like this because I really wanted to focus on that inner conflict and transition as he starts to doubt and think for himself. Thank you for reviewing!

**Wikked - **Thank you! I'm certainly trying!

**Guest - **Thank you so much, I'm so happy to hear that Regulus feels authentic. We know so little of him, but the stuff we do know is so important - it gets a bit tricky to navigate at times but I'm happy you're enjoying it!

**Love Fiction 2019 - **Thank you! I'm trying! I'm enjoying writing him so far.

**Dancing-Souls - **haha, you're right, it's already too late for the both of them. I'm glad you liked the last chapter because I had a lot of fun writing it. From here on I'm letting Efa get more comfortable with him, and likewise with Regulus - though he'll be tougher to crack!

**Kalmaegi - **I know you! Thank you for your continued support of my stories, I always look forward to your kind and insightful reviews :) And yes, I'm super excited to do the reveal of her heritage, but I'm planning it in a way so that when he finally finds out he's already in too deep. Thanks for the review!


	7. Chapter 7

_October 31, 1977_

_._

Orange coloured yolk erupted from a poached egg as the witch pierced it with her fork.

It was Halloween, and the breakfast was grand and flavourful. Efa took a sip of milky earl grey as she listened to the conversation taking place across from where she sat.

Otto and Gwyn were chatting across the table from her, back to being thick as thieves once again. It looked as though they had talked through things, and both looked relieved and happy to have their previous troubles behind them.

Efa was also relieved. In all the chaos and violence the wizarding world was currently undergoing, it felt reassuring to know that the three of them were back to being a united force.

"Heads up, Efa!" Called David Kim from her side with a nudge from his elbow.

Efa looked up just in time to see Regulus' owl, Mabon, swooping towards her and dropping a letter over her head. She caught it, saving the slightly damp stationary from falling into her plate.

Her father's letters always came to her a bit battered, but it was no use. He could not cast protective charms to keep the rain and elements off the paper like she could, and she had forbidden him from wrapping his letters in Clingfilm like he had tried to do in her first year of school.

Explaining plastic wrap to a few of her perplexed housemates who did not have any muggles in their family had been interesting.

It had been even more interesting when David had taken it from her to give to Aditya, who gave it to Marnie, who gave it to Filch to be confiscated, who had it stolen from his office by Sirius and James, who had then used it to try and wrap it around Edmund Flint's face to get him to stop talking. The Slytherin boy had nearly suffocated because the two trouble-making Marauders had not known that one could not breathe through Clingfilm.

Needless to say, Efa made sure not to let her father send any more letters covered in plastic wrap, lest she be indirectly involved in an accidental murder.

A few seconds later, just as Efa was pulling her letter out of the yellow envelope, a copy of the Daily Prophet landed right in David's lap. She would borrow it from him later, but for now she was elated to have a letter from her father to read.

Efa smiled softly as her father's messy cursive came into view when she unfolded the letter and began to scan the words.

'_Darling,_

_You're correct. I __**am**__ very cross with you, but I suppose I'll just have to get over myself, won't I? In the future, please remember to write me as soon as you arrive. Going a month without hearing from you and not being able to phone you did a number on my nerves. I still can't believe with all the wacky magical things your people have, that you haven't figured out a faster method of communication yet._

_I'm glad to hear your classes are going well, and I hope you're enjoying them. Things are the same as always on my end. In January I'll travel to Cambridge as a guest lecturer, and my research finds from the dig are set to be published next summer. That's about all the updates I have for you. Your Tad is a boring old man, I'm afraid._

_Your new acquaintance sounds like a git, to be quite frank. Though perhaps there's more than meets the eye. In my experience, people who spend their lives living in such a fashion are rarely happy folk. You know that old saying, don't you? 'More money, more problems'. _

_Speaking of friends, you are more than welcome to invite any you may have for the holidays. I would be delighted to host Otto and Gwyn again, should they be available. The more the merrier!_

_One last thing; I've enclosed a picture of us for you. I recently had the film developed from the pictures we took in Sweden over the summer. I thought you'd like to have one, even if it doesn't move around like your weird photos do._

_Write me back sooner this time, or I'll ground you._

_Love you always,_

_\- Tad.'_

Efa's heart felt lighter as she re-read the letter before reaching back into the envelope to pull out a photo of her and her father.

It was slightly sepia-toned – her father's camera was an older one from the late sixties. It showed them standing together down in the space they had been digging in, and she remembered the moment when her father's assistant had snapped the photo.

They both had large grins on their face, and both looked a proper mess. They were covered in dirt, their cheeks pink and freckled from the sun, but happy all the same. Her father had an arm slung around her shoulder, and Efa carefully held a broken pot they had just excavated in her hands. Her wild curls were pulled back into a long braid, though some had come loose, and her father kept his equally curly hair underneath a blue bandana.

They looked happy and carefree, and Efa couldn't help but long for those summer days. Those peaceful and joyful times felt so far away.

"How's your father, Effie?" Asked Gwyn, recognizing the handwriting on the page.

"He's well." She responded, handing the picture to Gwyn for her to take a look at. "He sent a picture of us from the summer."

Otto sucked in a scandalized breath at the photo as he peered over Gwyn's shoulders to get a look at it.

"_Meine Güte_, Efa!" He sputtered, looking between her and the photo. "What are you wearing?"

"Shorts, a t-shirt, and trainers." She supplied casually, taking another bite of her eggs.

"Are they called 'shorts' because they're so short?" Gwyn asked curiously, wiggling the photo around as though to try and encourage the figures to notice her. "I keep forgetting that muggle photos don't move."

"Inappropriate!" Otto retorted, still looking shocked. "Your father let you outside dressed that way? My _Mutti_ has undergarments that cover more!"

"Let me see it." David cut in, taking the photo when Gwyn handed it to him. He gave a quick laugh before continuing. "Actually, these aren't that short. My mum wears them shorter when she goes to exercise. I think my dad's just gotten used to muggle fashion over the years because it doesn't bother him anymore. Men wear them too, you know."

"Men too?" Otto cried in surprise. "Is the goal to show the entirety of the leg? What a preposterous idea!"

"I think they're cute." Argued Gwyn. "I wouldn't mind wearing some in the summer, I bet it feels better than wearing robes when the weather gets hot. Do you wear them, David?"

"I do, yeah." Replied the captain of a quidditch team, giving Efa a nudge with his elbow. "Looks like it's just you and I on 'team shorts', huh?"

Efa laughed in response, taking the photo back from him and slipping it into her robes. She would need to tuck it away somewhere just for her eyes.

The fact that it was a muggle photo wasn't too big a deal, especially since it was believed she was a half-blood and it would be normal to have such things. No, it was the manner of dress in the photo that might cause a ruckus.

Most witches and wizards wore clothing that covered the majority of the skin. Every now and again one might spy calf-length robes or a bit of cleavage, but never anything above the knee, and hardly ever anything that showed the upper arms or shoulders. Efa was aware that wearing something like shorts and a t-shirt, something that would be seen as messy or casual in the muggle world, would likely be seen as provocative in the wizarding world.

"Shorts and matters of propriety aside," Began Efa, looking pointedly towards Otto. "My father said you two are welcome during the holidays, if you'd like to visit. I think I'll register our chimney with the floo network regardless, just to make things easier."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" Grinned Gwyn. "Maybe before Christmas? My family is traveling to spend New Year's with the Prewett's to see Molly and Arthur's new-born, so I won't be available after the twenty-fifth."

"I'm sure that's fine." Efa smiled back, looking towards Otto. "And you, Otto?"

His face fell a fraction as he answered.

"I'm not sure." He replied honestly. "If I can come it may not be for long, and I'll have to think of a convincing enough lie for my parents."

"We'll help you, of course." Declared Gwyn, who had been very useful in the past whenever they had needed to make up a story that would fly under Otto's mother's radar.

Otto gave a stiff nod, opening his mouth to relay his gratitude when David Kim's horrified voice interrupted their planning.

"Dear God…" He breathed, and the other three surrounding him immediately quieted, looking to David.

His face had gone white as a sheet, and his hands shook as he mutely handed the paper to Otto. With wide eyes and a firmly set jaw, Otto read the headlines aloud as David ran a hand through his hair, speechless.

" '_Dark Mark found cast over smouldering remains of the annual charity dinner at Murray Manor in Northern Ireland. Death Eaters have claimed responsibility for the attack that claimed the lives of thirty-eight_.' " Otto read.

He paused, seemingly unable to read any more of it aloud. His eyes flitted quickly over the words as he continued reading. His face took a greenish hue the more he read.

Efa set her fork down. Her appetite had vanished.

"They killed them all." Relayed Otto, voice strained. "They didn't even spare the children."

A beat of terrible silence spread over them, and Efa found that her lips could not move to form words.

"Louisa Murray was a friend of my mum's. She was expecting a baby in the summer." Gwyn finally breathed in shock. A horrible moment of silence passed before she stood quickly. "I...excuse me-"

She darted quickly for the entrance of the great hall, a hand over her mouth.

"I'll go check on her." Muttered David, still looking deeply shaken at the news. He rose as well, following quickly after his teammate.

Efa stared blankly in front of her, unable to think clearly. Otto sat in silence as well, though she could hear him grinding his teeth together angrily.

She could hear hushed whispering and terrible gasps as word spread throughout the great hall. Many had the same reaction Gwyn did. Some sat in shock like Efa and Otto. Others, and Efa felt her stomach turn after seeing their reaction, did not seem perturbed in the slightest.

She could hear laughter now, the cruel noise coming from a group of boys and one girl standing near the entrance of the great hall and crowded around a copy of the paper. She recognised Avery and Mulciber in their group, but not the other two. All of a sudden, it was too much.

"I'm going to head to Potions early." She declared quietly, tearing her gaze from the group and throwing her napkin onto her plate as she stood.

Otto stood with her, looking as though he had also lost his appetite and was unwilling linger.

"Stay strong." He murmured as they passed the group of boys and left the great hall. "That's what we all have to do right now – just stay strong."

She gave a clipped nod but did not respond, and they traversed the rest of the way in silence.

Stay strong - A phrase much easier said than done. But she would do it. They all would, because none of them could afford not to, not when the consequences were so deadly. There was no other choice.

They split wordlessly after giving a sombre greeting to Slughorn, who looked surprised to see them arrive earlier but made no complaints. Instead, he complimented and praised their studious attitudes, boasting that his Slug Club students were the most motivated of the school.

Efa could only give a weak smile, though Otto played his role better, slipping into his 'pureblood persona' easily and chattering self-importantly with Slughorn so that the professor would focus his attentions away from her. For that, she was immensely grateful. She doubted she would have been able to hold a proper conversation.

Eventually, the rest of the class began to filter down into the classroom in the dungeon, taking their seats around their assigned cauldrons.

At some point, Regulus also took his seat beside her and gave a cordial greeting, but all she could do was nod, unable to meet his eyes. Her mind was so preoccupied that she hardly noticed her surroundings.

Thirty-eight.

Men, women, and children.

It was, so far, the deadliest attack yet. Perhaps the most gruesome as well, at least that they knew of. To kill a pregnant woman and children too, to listen to their screams and to laugh at their agony - it was nothing short of vile, a special type of evil that she could not wrap her mind around.

And John Murray - a muggle-born, just like her.

Was that the type of fate that awaited her in the Dark Lord's promised world? Is that what would happen to her and her father?

She couldn't help but make that comparison in her mind every time the wizarding radio or the Daily Prophet reported a new murder, more torturing, or a new victim of the Imperious curse. A half-blood victim became Remus or David. A blood traitor murdered became Gwyn. The torturing and slaughtering of muggles or muggle-borns became Efa and her father.

Her dreams were already riddled with the images of her loved ones, their faces twisted in agony, or with mangled limbs and glassy, unseeing eyes.

Suddenly, Gwyn's words from their late night talk the week prior began to ring in her ears.

'_If he wins, we're all as good as dead. Don't you think trying to stop that from happening is worth it? Don't you want to fight back?'_

But how? How could one fight something like that? They weren't just fighting a group of people, they were fighting an ideology, which was arguable even more dangerous. The tides of the war were turning, and it was in _You Know Who'_s favour. His forces only continued to get strong, bolder. They outnumbered the meagre resistance nearly twenty to one.

That was substantial. So substantial, in fact, that she felt that to hope for a positive outcome was folly. Efa was a being ruled by logic, and it seemed that the only logical outcome was a victory for a dark tyrant and his supporters.

How could they fight when there was no chance at winning? Perhaps it was best to run, to submit…but would she be able to live with herself if she did? Would she even be allowed to live if that evil man had his way and gained complete control of their world?

What would happen to people like her, her father, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, Gwyn Roberts, and countless others?

The reality was that the war was invading every aspect of their lives, setting their futures aflame and ripping loved ones from their grasps. It would only get worse, and none of them would be left untouched by it.

Where could she even go, if she ran? People could be outrun, but not their ideologies. Ideologies like this were a sickness, a cancer that infected anything in its path.

A sharp sting on her index finger registered in her mind then, and she glanced down to the cutting board to see blood beginning to leak from her flesh and onto the wooden surface.

The knife had slipped while she was deep inside her mind and attempting to cut a bezoar. She was still so dazed that she had yet to register the pain.

Efa stared at the blood a moment, transfixed at the sight of it. It looked somewhat like the way her poached egg had leaked its yolk this morning atop her plate.

"Do you have the bezoar yet? I'll need it in –" Regulus stopped abruptly, changing tune as soon as he saw the shocked witch staring down at her bloodied finger, a deep cut that had sliced nearly to the bone. "Efa, you're bleeding."

She blinked then, eyes widening as she seemed to come to her senses.

"Oh." She breathed, still looking somewhat dazed as she quickly pulled a handkerchief from her robes to wrap around her finger. "The knife must have slipped."

She stood then, calling over the Potions professor, who came right away after spying blood.

"Oh dear." He spoke, unwrapping the delicately embroidered handkerchief to expose the nasty looking wound that continued to bleed heavily. "Slippery little devils, those bezoars. You'd best be off to Madame Pomfrey, my dear, especially with such an important evening ahead of you!"

Efa looked at him, clearly puzzled.

"Sir?" She said, wondering what she had missed.

"The first Slug Club dinner is tonight." Regulus supplied, keeping his eyes on the professor and his fellow prefect as he stirred their potion.

"Indeed!" Nodded Slughorn vigorously as he wrapped her finger back up and gave a small pat on her hand. "I hope to see you there, hopefully with all ten of your fingers."

The professor wheezed as he laughed at his own joke, and Efa gave a strained smile as she nodded.

"I'll be there professor, it must have slipped my mind." She relayed quietly, before taking her hands from his grasp and picking up her book bag with her uninjured arm. "I'll be off then."

She turned to Regulus then, a worried look on her face.

"I'm sorry to leave you to finish it on your own. Will you get on alright?"

Regulus only sniffed at her, looking vaguely offended that she apparently thought he would be hard-pressed to complete it without her.

"I'm sure that I am more than capable." Came his cool reply, to which she gave a nod.

She said nothing more, only turning to take her leave.

As she turned, however, she did not notice the sepia-toned photograph that slipped out of her robes and fluttered to the ground, nor did she notice the pale and slender fingers that picked it up as she exited the classroom.

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"Served him right."

"I heard John Murray and his associates were the ones that organized the protest against the Ministry demanding rights for squibs. Hopefully they'll learn after this not to interfere. It's better for them that way, then there's no senseless death."

"I say we just kill them all and be done with it."

"That's a bit much, Avery. My father says that the Dark Lord intends to make use of squibs and mudbloods as servants once the war's won. Maybe that's the best way to deal with the problem."

"Is that so? That doesn't sound too awful."

A beat of silence before Evan Rosier's hesitant voice arose.

"…I don't think they should have killed the children though."

"Oh, quite snivelling about those brats, Rosier."

"I'm not _snivelling!"_

"Yeah? Doesn't look that way to me. If you're going to cry every time an undesirable dies, then you're no use to the Dark Lord. He needs real men in his service, not fucking pansies."

"Shut _up_, Mulciber-"

Regulus lay back on his bed, only half listening to the other young men in his dormitory. He had originally come to try and catch a small nap before the Slug Club dinner, but the four dorm mates sitting at the opposite end of the dormitory would not stop talking about the most recent attack.

Lestrange, Rosier, Avery, and Mulciber if he had to wager a guess. Some of the others weren't quite as vicious and would not speak about what had happened with such wanton cheer.

And then there was Evan Rosier, who seemed just as uneasy as Regulus about certain things. Yet both young men persisted. They had their duty to do, and they would do it.

He opened his eyes, letting his lazy and heavy-lidded gaze drift over the dark green curtains that he had drawn shut around his four-poster bed. It was unlikely he would catch any sleep.

He remained where he was, though. He had no desire to join the conversation going on outside the curtains. He did not want to hear descriptions of how those mudbloods and blood-traitors had died, he found no joy in such things - much like Rosier, he suspected.

If only they had learned their place and kept quiet, then they would not have suffered such a fate. They had been terribly foolish to oppose the Dark Lord's views and demand such an outrageous thing.

Rights for squibs? What was next, a muggle-born Minister of Magic? He could have scoffed.

Foolish man, John Murray. Foolish friends who had helped to organize a protest and fundraising dinner. Fools, all of them. Dead fools, but fools all the same.

Regulus could not comprehend why there were those who threw their lives away like that. It made no sense to him. The Dark Lord was merciful to those who followed obediently, and to those who were useful despite their blood.

He hated to see magical blood spilt, no matter how pure or dirty it was. He hated that people kept resisting. He hated to see what became of them because of it. Why did they continue to throw their lives away?

Why fight it? It was only natural that there was a hierarchy, it was better to accept it, to save themselves and their families.

Even half-bloods and muggle-borns could be afforded the opportunity to make something of themselves in the new world. Severus Snape was a good example of that. Severus had yet to graduate but was already rising quickly up the ranks of the Death Eaters, fast to become a trusted favourite of the Dark Lord. Lily Evans was another good example as well, the brilliant young witch would be a valuable ally despite her background, and though she would never be fully accepted into their society, at least the opportunity for success was there.

There was opportunity, one only had to submit first in order to seize it for themselves. In his mind, it made sense, it was fair.

He wondered if Efa would seize that opportunity if it was given to her, or if she would be among those who chose to fight a losing battle. It would be a shame, to lose minds like hers to pointless resistance. _Especially_ minds like hers.

The more he thought of Efa Hathaway, the more he became convinced that she could be of use to the Dark Lord.

Apparently, the Dark Lord had set his sights upon a few students within the castle that he had taken a special interest in. These were students who exceeded expectations and would be valuable resources at his disposal. Students like Severus Snape, Lily Evans, James Potter, and others.

These students would be awarded a very special opportunity after they left the barricades of the school that kept them safe from his influence. If they refused, then they were fools, and the Daily Prophet had offered a clear picture this morning of what happened to fools.

The Dark Lord had asked them, his student recruits, to keep an eye out for others who showed great potential, of those who could be turned to reason.

Regulus had not been certain at first, but he grew more certain by the day.

Efa Hathaway was a prime candidate.

She was quiet, soft-spoken, and unassuming. So much so that Regulus had taken little notice of her until he had been paired with her for the year. He had hardly even known she existed before then. But every conversation they had, every hesitant word she spoke, he became more convinced.

Efa was brilliant, to put it simply. She was bright, exercised precise control of her magic, and had proven herself to be a capable witch with a thirst for knowledge. The Welsh witch had potential and would go far if trained in the Dark Arts, perhaps farther than many.

Unlike Severus, however, she had a personality that was meek, one that could be easily bent by fear. If they had the right leverage, she would crumble in their hands – and Regulus had a feeling he knew just who could be used as leverage to coerce a decision from her.

He reached his hand inside his robes to remove the photograph she had accidentally dropped earlier in Potions class.

A strange thing, this muggle photograph.

It was not black and white, like theirs usually were. The image of Efa and her father remained completely still, the film not enchanted to capture movement. And the way they were dressed…

He felt his face growing warm, his blood rushing hot in his veins.

Grey eyes travelled up and down the feminine body displayed in the still photograph, trailing over exposed skin.

Her legs, slightly tanned and exposed for all to see. Her arms, uncovered and displaying the smooth skin he had caught a glimpse of two weeks ago in the owlery. Messy hair, dimpled cheeks, soft looking flesh left bare – he had not seen anything so revealing since the time he had accidentally found one of Sirius' muggle magazines tucked away under his mattress, one that showed many tantalizing pictures of scantily clad women in promiscuous poses.

Pureblood witches simply did not dress in such a manor, and he had seen very little of muggle clothing in his lifetime.

It seemed a strange thought that these revealing fashions were common place amongst muggles. Many of his social circle might call such clothing indecent.

He felt his body heating even further as he thought about it, and he shifted uncomfortably atop his mattress, attempting to ignore the reaction given by his body.

The Slytherin prefect reluctantly tore his eyes from the figure of the girl to land on the man he could only assume was her father.

They had many similar features, and it was easy to see they were related. They sported the same curly hair, the same dark brown hue. They shared the same skin-tone, and had similar dimples in their smiling cheeks. The only major differences he could spot was that Mr. Hathaway had a much larger nose and blue eyes, whereas his daughter had brown eyes and soft facial features.

They looked happy.

He supposed they probably were. From what precious little she had spoken of him, it was clear her father was very dear to her, and vice-versa.

That was good.

It meant she could be more easily manipulated if it came down to that, though he hoped it would not. It would be much easier if she was willing. He would not take any pleasure in forcing her hand.

He felt sure he could manage to persuade her, she seemed like a logical girl after all. And to bring in a new recruit himself, especially somebody with potential to be valuable, it would undoubtedly raise his status and that of his family in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

He would wait until December, he decided. December was when he would finally meet the Dark Lord in person. December was when he would be given the Dark Mark and officially become a Death Eater. In December, he would advocate on her behalf to the Dark Lord.

_If only he had known_.

At that point in time, Regulus had no idea that the girl would be his undoing.

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"Add Efa Hathaway to the list."

Regulus voiced his thoughts aloud to the seventh-year as he exited the lavatory after having put the last bits of effort into his evening ensemble. His dress robes were pristine, as usual, and his wavy hair was charmed to keep from falling in his face.

He looked regal, as somebody of his station ought to. Not a single hair was out of place.

Corban Yaxley gave him an odd look, glancing at the others who sat in their dormitory. The dormitory Regulus shared with these young men had become an impromptu meeting area for such discussion, until the time a better place could be found.

Until then, they spoke of their plans, missions, and developments happening outside of the castle in this dormitory for sixth and seventh years, all of whom had either already taken the mark or were set to receive it soon. Privacy wards and silencing charms had been permanently cast to help ensure they were not overheard.

"Who the bloody hell is Efa Hathaway?" Demanded Yaxley, seeming to try to bring faces and names to the front of his mind, but failing.

Evan Rosier sat forward then, rubbing at his chin.

"Ravenclaw? No, maybe Hufflepuff…It's that girl who's always in the library. What's so special about her?"

It was Rabastan Lestrange who answered the question, though, his low voice cold and brushing over them in assurance of his knowledge.

"She's a sixth year Ravenclaw prefect. Top marks every year. Half-blood daughter of a squib and an unknown witch." His dark eyes flitted to Regulus' tall figure then, narrowing in unconcealed mirth. "Doesn't seem to have an owl of her own. Isn't that right, Black?"

Regulus shot his housemate a glare that might have crippled anyone else, if it had not been one as audacious as Lestrange.

He knew that Rabastan Lestrange was observant in a way that many were not – he paid attention to the finer details, his eyes soaking in every bit of information around him. He had not expected, however, for Rabastan to have noticed the fact that Regulus had lent Efa his personal owl for her usage. He must have seen Mabon delivering Efa her father's reply, then.

He hated how Lestrange never seemed to miss anything, he hated how closely the seventh-year watched them all, as well as others. He hated most of all, however, Lestrange's bloodlust.

When Regulus had spent the summer learning the darkest curses and things of the like from Death Eaters and those who were allies to their cause, he had lost track of how many times he'd seen Rabastan and his brother Rodolphus arriving back from a raid, each time covered in blood that was not his and grinning like a madman.

It was common knowledge that Rabastan Lestrange liked to play with his food before he ate. A simple killing curse, even though the young man was powerful enough to produce one, was just too quick. Rabastan had declared on many occasion that it 'took the fun out of things'.

He liked to torture, to humiliate in ways that Regulus found unspeakable, to hear his victims beg for death before he eventually relented. Only when they begged and only when they were broken would he finally give in.

Violence and blood were his language of love, and the others joked that perhaps he got off on it. Rabastan had never denied it. In fact, he seemed to revel in it. The sight of blood made his eyes gleam and his breathing quicken, as if he were drunk on the vision of it and the sounds of the screams of his victims.

The young man set Regulus on edge after he had seen those two sides of Rabastan: one side being carefully composed and observant, and the other side one who took immense pleasure in torture, murder, and practicing his newly learned curses on the innocent.

It was for that reason that Rabastan was often deployed on raids, him and Bellatrix and Rodolphus and Dolohov. The four of them worked together like an unstoppable force of nature, one that left bloodstains in the pavement and terror in its wake.

For that reason precisely it did not sit well with Regulus that Lestrange had taken such careful notice of Efa. How long had he been watching her?

"What do owls have to do with any of it? Who is this girl?" Voiced Yaxley, losing what little patience he was known for.

Regulus finally found his tongue, breaking his staring match with Rabastan and returning his chilled gaze to Yaxley.

"Perhaps one of the brightest witches I have ever met. I don't know much of her duelling skills, but her mind and talent in other areas are on par with some of the best."

"And her allegiances?" Yaxley questioned, looking mildly intrigued with the suggestion. "Can she be turned?"

"That's what remains to be seen. I work with her closely, so I will keep an eye on her." Regulus stated.

"She is close with the Kaiser heir, and his family was very useful to the Dark Lord over the summer. Otto Kaiser is expected to join the ranks after he graduates next year." Spoke Lestrange again, and Regulus had to bite back the scowl at hearing such information pouring from his lips. "Though she is also acquainted with Remus Lupin and the blood-traitor Roberts, and we know both have ties to the resistance."

"Is there anything else you happened to notice?" He bit at the seventh-year pureblood, unable to keep his tone from sounding harsh.

What was next? Her favourite colours and foods? Her most recent holiday? Maybe he knew whether she liked her eggs scrambled or fried?

"Yes, there is." Replied Lestrange with a feral grin that did not look the least bit friendly. "She is, apparently, one of the most promising students in Alchemy that the school's had in some time. I heard two professors discussing it last week. And as you know, the Dark Lord has taken a special interest in Alchemy as of late."

"Yeah, that's right." Rosier sat up a little straighter as he remembered something. "He kept murmuring about some sort of rock or stone all summer but could never find it. Said something about wanting to make one of his own but wasn't able to find the one man who knows how to do it."

That was news to Regulus, and it perturbed him to be out of the loop. He felt a pang of envy that these three had been in close proximity to the Dark Lord, while he himself had been handed off between families to receive his training, only catching glimpses and whispers.

What stone could they be speaking of? It must have immense value if the Dark Lord was trying to find it or find a way to create one of his own. Was there truly only one person in the world who held that knowledge?

Perhaps he could ask Efa if she had any knowledge about stones in an alchemical context.

"Lestrange is right." Stated Regulus, though the words tasted sour upon his tongue. "I would like to monitor her myself, to gain her trust. We're patrolling and Potions partners for the year, so it will be less suspicious if I do it."

"And do you think this girl will be easily persuaded?" Pressed Yaxley seriously. "Because I'm already having doubts about Evans and Potter, and your brother is a lost cause, Black. The only luck we'll probably have is with the Pettigrew boy, and he's a snivelling idiot. We can't afford another failure; the Dark Lord is relying on us to provide him with powerful assets."

"Sirius is no brother of mine." Regulus replied sharply, not appreciating how they kept associating him with the likes of Sirius.

His entire life had been spent in his older brother's shadow. But no more. Now he would create a legacy of his own. He would be the one to restore honour to his family name.

Regulus spoke strongly as he continued.

"She's meek. If she can't be persuaded then I'm positive she can be easily coerced. I've already found a point of leverage should she initially refuse." Answered Regulus confidently, thinking again to the picture he had of her inside his robes, tucked up against his chest.

Rabastan Lestrange continued to smile to himself, the sickly-looking action making Regulus' spine go rigid. He hated it when Lestrange smiled. Nothing good ever came of it.

"I'll add her to the list then if you're sure of it." Allowed Yaxley, looking pleased at being able to present the Dark Lord with another promising candidate over winter holidays. "Can't believe I never noticed her before…"

"Not many do." Murmured Rabastan, casting a knowing and calculative look to Regulus, who simply frowned in return.

What Rabastan had said was not wrong, but it only made Regulus wonder – if Efa Hathaway went unnoticed by most, why had Rabastan Lestrange been watching her so closely?

One thing Regulus did know, however, was that the idea of somebody like Lestrange keeping tabs on Efa displeased him immensely.

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**Reviews!**

**Guest (Lyanna) - **I'm actually really enjoying writing all their scenes together. I've just finished chapter 18, and they are, indeed, adorable. I actually see a lot of similarities between Peter and Efa, though I'll be writing very separate paths for them. I like to think that Peter is the product of his situation and anxieties, and I don't want to write him as too much of a 'bad guy'.

**Love Fiction 2019 - **Ellise Chappell (except with long and curly hair) for Efa, and I haven't decided for Regulus, though I keep coming back to Adam Driver (perhaps a younger version?). Not sure yet!


	8. Chapter 8

**Happy holidays to all who might have had one to celebrate, and I hope your new year is a prosperous and happy one if you're following the Gregorian calendar (my New Year was back in August, but happy New Year to all who are celebrating it)!**

**Also - as far as Rabastan goes, I promise he's not just creepy stalking for no reason, it all plays into a bigger picture. I just finished chapter 20, and things are pretty intense.**

**Replies to reviews are at the bottom, and I want you guys to know how grateful I am to have the feedback and encouragement. Thank you :)**

**(P.S. this chapter is unedited because I'm quite busy at the moment, so I apologise for the likely case that this chapter has errors.)**

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_October 31st, 1977_

_._

"I hate these stupid parties."

Efa sighed, turning her eyes to the vaulted ceiling of the corridor in exasperation as she and Otto made their way down to the dungeons. This was the fifth time he had mentioned that since they had left the Ravenclaw common room only ten minutes prior.

Otto Kaiser could out-grumble anyone, this she knew by first-hand experience.

They were dressed in nicer robes, for Horace Slughorn always mandated a dress code for his little dinner parties. Otto wore midnight blue robes, the colour of his family's ancient coat of arms and an ode to his Hogwarts house. He had combed his ashy blonde hair to the side and looked every bit the pure-blooded heir that he was.

Efa wore silver robes, one of the two sets of dress robes she had. She had even plaited her hair into a messy up-do with Gwyn's help.

'_Beauty is pain'_, Gwyn had stated sombrely when she had been attempting to yank Efa's unruly hair into place. At the end of the horrible hair-styling ordeal, it had taken seventeen pins and three hair charms to get her curls to stay where they were supposed to, and even then, she still tried not to move her head too drastically. She was not certain the hair would remain where it needed to be for the duration of the party as it was.

It had been a valiant effort on Gwyn's part to wrestle with the untameable curls, one that had resulted in frustration, curses, and a very sore scalp for Efa. The pins keeping it in place tugged uncomfortably, but the style looked quite nice in her opinion and the thought that she would only need to endure it for a short few hours was a comforting one to be had.

_Just a few hours_, she reassured herself as she attempted to ignore how her head throbbed while listening to Otto's discontented mumblings. In Efa's opinion, he ought not complain with how easy it was for men to get ready for formal events.

She had seen Otto get ready before. The most he'd done was comb his hair, press his robes, and dab some expensive cologne onto his wrists, and that was it.

"It's just a dinner, Otto." She reprimanded softly, biting back a smile. "You'll survive."

He harrumphed at her, scowling as they descended the steps together into the dungeon.

"At least we get to wear nicer robes. School robes get mundane after a while, you know." He paused, glancing at her in approval. "You clean up rather nicely. I suppose Gwyn helped you with that mess you call hair?"

Efa nudged him with her elbow for sport.

"She did, and I like the school robes, actually." The brunette admitted. "It brings everyone to the same level when we all have to wear the same clothing."

"I suppose that's true." He allowed. "It gets hard to tell who's who, outside of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight', of course. No missing those names and faces."

Efa gave a small laugh at the nasally and condescending tone he used when referencing Britain's most distinguished families. It was the very same tone he often used when attempting to mimic the words of someone he did not care for, and she found it sounded immensely amusing in that instance.

"It looks nice, though? My hair?" She asked, bringing her fingers up to brush over the plaited bun self-consciously.

Already a few wispy curls were threatening escape.

Any second now, she was sure it was all going to unravel and her hair would surely explode from its confinement, like some sort of ticking time bomb of curly chaos.

"Very elegant. You look lovely." He stated bluntly, though Efa knew it was just him saying what he believed as fact. "You should let Gwyn at it more often, she has a certain knack for these things."

"She does, doesn't she?" Affirmed Efa warmly.

Gwyn was very talented with hair and cosmetics, and loved to practice on Efa and her housemates. She rarely practiced them on herself though, and Efa understood why. Gwyn was gorgeous even when she stumbled into the lavatory like a zombie in the mornings.

She and Otto were not the first to arrive when they stepped into Slughorn's office, which had been decorated smartly for their evening dinner party.

The gloomy office looked livelier with the decorations, and the candlelight made everything seem a bit softer, casting shadows and warm light over the party-goers and their surroundings.

Efa allowed her gaze to travel around the room, noting that Lily Evans had arrived before them. The red-headed witch glanced up happily after noting that Efa and Otto were now there.

Lily made a beeline for Efa as soon as the two girls made eye contact, no doubt grateful for a friendly face. The room was filled with mostly young men, the majority from notable families and many of them faces she normally saw with Regulus and Severus – not the type of company Lily Evans or Efa Hathaway normally kept.

The only other non-purebloods she saw were Severus Snape, who had his inky eyes trained on Lily and a certain brooding atmosphere to him, and Cerberus Atkinson, a Hufflepuff boy with his nose stuffed in a novel who normally kept to himself and hardly ever spoke.

"I am _so_ happy to see you here." Whispered Lily in relief once she had stopped in front of Efa.

Efa and Lily were not very close at all, but in the times when they had shared space together or spoken at length Efa had enjoyed her company. It was common then, that the two girls would rough out Slughorn's pretentious dinner parties together. It gave them both a sense of ease, feeling as though they had an ally in each other for the evening.

Efa was certainly glad to see her as well, a fact that she was quick to voice aloud.

"I'm happy to see you too. You'll sit with Otto and I, won't you?" Asked Efa with a small smile, continuing when Lily gave a quick bob of the head. "Your robes are stunning, by the way. The red looks very smart."

The two young women made small talk until Otto joined them, at which point they switched the conversation towards the subjects of quidditch and academics.

Efa would not call the Slug Club dinners enjoyable, not even remotely close to it. However, she could not deny that having Lily Evans there made the evenings at least somewhat tolerable, she doubted the pretentious little parties would be bearable if Otto and Lily had not been there.

The conversation was pleasant, and the trio stuck to themselves for the most part. Efa made sure to give her greetings to Professor Slughorn out of respect for the host, and she also spoke briefly to Cerberus, when she recognised the novel he was reading and asked him what he thought of the book so far.

All in all, she supposed it wasn't too horrible, though she certainly would not linger when the evening came to a close.

The door opened again as they continued to converse, but Efa found that the conversation faded when she saw Regulus Black step though the threshold of the office.

His robes were black and accented with a dark green satin, well-tailored and seeming to make his tall and broad-shouldered figure look even more striking than he normally looked. The robes themselves were expensive, she could tell just by the fabric and quality of stitching. His black hair held a bit of wave to it, glossy and thick, the colour standing out in stark contrast against impossibly pale skin.

Altogether he looked purposeful, intimidating, and…well…quite handsome in her opinion.

That thought startled her. It was, perhaps, the first time she had realised this fact.

His grey gaze swept over her figure, though his emotions remained well-concealed. He held her eyes with a purposeful, intense sort of look, one that rooted her to the spot and made her feel as though she could not move.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he turned to welcome an exuberant greeting from Professor Slughorn. Efa turned as well and looked back to Otto, who was asking Lily something about the seventh-year N.E.W.T. classes, feeling thoroughly dazed as she tried and failed to refocus her attention on the conversation at hand.

Efa attempted to focus on anything else as the evening went on. Eventually, they took their seats around a large, circular table.

The food was incredibly lavish, as it always was. She found she could not eat too much of it, for it was too rich and her body could not stomach much of the heavy sauces that topped the vegetables and gamy meats.

Slughorn led the conversations, asking after certain members and encouraging his party-goers to make connections with one another. The man prided himself on his ability to foresee which students of his would go on to make a name for themselves, to become great one day, and Efa could not deny that he did have a sort of special talent for it.

It was almost as if he could smell out potential, like some sort of hound.

There was a wall in his office, filled with pictures, letters, and various gifts from famous witches and wizards who had been a member of his Slug Club at one point or another. Those who found themselves in his circle were expected to be great, and when they became great, were expected to repay the favour to Slughorn at some point.

It was clear that he took pride in his ability to scout talent, ambition, charm, and prodigy. It was also clear he hoped to profit from it later on. Efa supposed she could not blame him. It was terribly clever on his end, a form of self-preservation by endearing himself to those who looked promising.

Perhaps he would outlast them all. She would not be surprised if that were the case. He was cunning enough.

It was then, as she pondered over his motives and character, that the man himself wrenched her from her inner musings.

"Efa, my dear girl, are you with us?" He chuckled when she blinked her surroundings back into focus and centred her attention to him curiously. "Always lost in thought, this one! Though, I'll admit that if I had a mind like hers I should like to spend my time lost in thought as well."

It was a compliment, but it made her feel uncomfortable all the same. Most of his compliments had that effect on her when she knew they were given with ulterior motive.

Her father called it "arse-kissing", but she felt that was not terribly appropriate to repeat aloud.

"I'm sorry professor, I wasn't paying attention." She admitted, suddenly feeling her throat constricting when she realized most of the students at the table had turned their focus to her as well.

Too many eyes on her face, too much attention being paid – her chest felt very tight, and her tongue heavy in her mouth. She wanted to melt into the background, to go unseen and unheard.

"You ought to be more careful, dear. We wouldn't want any more accidents like you had with that bezoar this morning! All healed up, yes?"

"Yes sir."

"Marvellous!" He exclaimed, taking a drink from his goblet before continuing. "I had asked after your parents and their professions while you were sequestered within your mind. Mr Montague here was just telling me of his father's promotion in the Ministry, and he was curious as to what your parents do for a living...?"

She glanced towards Gerard Montague, who was looking quite pleased with himself. She was certain that his asking after her parents had not been out of curiosity, but rather an animosity. She knew that they all believed her father to be a squib.

It was a nasty little power-play on his end, and she steeled her face to keep from frowning at the pure-blood, who was snickering quietly with the boy next to him.

Otto reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze of reassurance under the table, and Efa held her head a fraction higher as she answered quietly.

"My mother died when I was very young, but my father is a professor."

She could feel the eyes on her now, she didn't need to look. All other chatter around the table had stopped at her words.

"A professor! I had no idea your father was so accomplished!" Slughorn suddenly looked quite intrigued. "Tell me, is he a potions master? Arithmancy, perhaps? Which wizarding school does he teach at? Durmstrang? Ilvermony?"

Montague and Wilkes continued to snicker to themselves as Efa answered, feeling her heart beginning to beat faster at the attention being given to her. She did not like the attention. She preferred to go unnoticed, but Montague apparently had other plans.

"He's a squib, sir." She lied through her teeth, pushing the same old lie she had been living since arriving to the school. "He teaches history at a muggle university."

Efa gave no more information, however. That was all she was willing to say. There was no need for any of them to know which university he taught at or in which country that might be located in.

She'd heard somewhere before that lies were more believable with kernels of truth woven into their fabric. She hoped, for her sake, that this was true.

Slughorn's face fell a fraction, obviously disappointed at the fact he would not have a connection to any accomplished professors. Efa bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her own face from showing the anger that welled in her chest alongside the near crippling social anxiety.

It was humiliating. Not just for her, but for her father as well.

"I see." Slughorn continued, tone less exuberant than it had been before. "Though I must say, with the talent you show in my class I had thought you to be a pureblood!"

Montague and Wilkes were openly laughing now, and she heard Otto grinding his teeth again. Slughorn, to her despair, remained oblivious.

Efa had no words, she was not sure how she ought to respond to that horrible statement and its implication that success could be measured by the purity of one's blood – and coming from the mouth of her professor, as well.

"I – I – well –" She couldn't make the words form in her mouth.

Her face began to heat rapidly as Montague laughed even louder when she began to stutter.

"Professor-" Cut in Lily sharply then, drawing the attention away from Efa and onto her. "Since we're talking about our parents, I'd like to go next. I'm not sure if you knew, but both my parents are muggles, actually. My father works in accounting and my mother is a nurse."

She spoke brazenly and with open pride, a fire dancing in her eyes that challenged the prejudices that were seeping into the conversation.

This, Efa recognized immediately, this was that famed Gryffindor courage and loyalty shining through. She looked every bit the lion that her house prided themselves in having for a mascot, fierce and strong as she openly flaunted and admitted her pride in her parents and her lower blood status.

Efa wished she could be fierce and strong. Instead, she sat there tongue-tied, ashamed that she could not be more like Lily Evans, and embarrassed into silence. Perhaps one day she would learn to roar like a lion too, but that day was not today.

"Oh!" Slughorn blinked rapidly, not having expected the turn in conversation. "That's – er – that's very fascinating, Miss Evans. Though I can't claim to have the slightest clue as to what an accountant does. I'm sure that-"

"Isn't it interesting, Professor," Lily interrupted, not yet done. "That the headmaster has named me head girl? Isn't it more interesting, in fact, that your two best students in my year are a muggle-born witch and a half-blood wizard? It almost seems to me that academic success is earned through hard work instead of blood status, wouldn't you agree?"

"Lily, that's enough-" Hissed Severus Snape from across the table, looking worriedly between her and a now murderous looking Montague.

Slughorn himself looked a bit flabbergasted, and he began to glance around uncomfortably at the varying reactions being given to such a bold statement.

The atmosphere had certainly shifted, and it was not in a pleasant direction.

"I – yes. Yes, that is a good point." He finally conceded, still shifting in his seat and glancing between the many different emotions displayed on the faces of his students. "Perhaps, ah, Mr. Wilkes, you would like to tell us of your family's time in Yugoslavia over the holidays? Yes, I should like to hear of-"

"Are you going to let that _filthy __mudblood_ speak to us like that?" Growled Montague, drowning out Slughorn completely.

At that, the table erupted.

Lily and Otto stood immediately, with Efa following a moment later, all looking shocked that a slur so foul and horrible had just been slung so heatedly at the red-headed Gryffindor. Slughorn himself gaped at the language, floundering as the other members of the Slug Club stood as well.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Efa was reminded of those silly American 'western' movies her father had liked to watch on occasion – when all the cowboys would draw their guns and stand in tense deliberation before a gun battle raged.

None had pulled their wands out yet, but in the current atmosphere, it would not surprise her should it take place.

"My father will hear of this-" Montague began to threaten Slughorn, who had still yet to respond and looked completely out of sorts.

"That is quite enough." Interrupted Regulus then, his cold and commanding voice sweeping over the table and drawing all their attention to him.

When he spoke, his tone was cool and level, leaving no room for arguments.

"Your father, Montague," Began Regulus, giving an icy stair towards the young man who had spoken the offensive word. "Will hear of two extremely talented witches, and hopefully not of his son's lack of manners. I believe this is a good lesson that talent, no matter it's source, does not go unnoticed…especially by those who _seek to collect it_."

When he spoke that last part, however, he had directed his gaze straight to Efa.

Montague and Wilkes quieted immediately, seeming to understand whatever hidden message lay in Regulus' cryptic statement.

Slughorn, however, looked immensely grateful for the intervention to what could have been a disastrous end to his party.

"Well said, my boy! Here, here!" He clapped his hands together awkwardly as he motioned at the others to sit back down. "I believe we could all use dessert, wouldn't you agree?"

The air remained tense as the students and the Potions Master worked their way through a raspberry and custard tart. The only sounds heard after where the delicate sound of silver spoons scraping against fine china.

Efa was so happy to leave when the party finally came to an end that she could have cried tears of joy. It was, by far, the worst dinner party she had ever been to.

They filed out, one by one, giving their goodbyes to the flustered professor and thanking him for the thoroughly horrible evening, though none voiced that last sentiment aloud.

Otto walked quickly towards Efa as soon as the other students began making their way towards their respective common rooms, pulling her aside to speak with her once they had reached the area where they would part ways with Lily.

"I'm going to walk Lily to her common room." He announced, glancing towards the red-headed witch worriedly. "I don't trust that Montague or Wilkes won't try something after this. Will you come with me? Then we can walk back together, just to be safe."

Efa opened her mouth to respond that she thought that his idea was likely for the best, and that it was better to be safe than sorry, when somebody else beat her to it.

"That will be unnecessary." Drawled the cool and lofty voice of Regulus Black. Efa turned abruptly at hearing him, not having realised that he had hung behind as well. "I will make sure she arrives safely."

Otto stared at the tall Slytherin boy with a narrowed gaze, but before he could tell Regulus that he would prefer to do it himself, the young man had looped his arm through Efa's and began walking, dragging her along with him. She stumbled in surprise, though Regulus was quick to right her and continue pulling her along.

She gave Otto a look of reassurance and small shrug before Regulus had turned them sharply around a corner, and the disgruntled-looking German and surprised Gryffindor disappeared from her view.

"That was hardly necessary." She murmured, taking her arm out from his as they continued.

"On the contrary. It's the proper thing to do." He disagreed immediately before continuing.

Silence spread thickly between them as they made their way up another flight of stairs and started down a different corridor. After a few moments, Efa spoke, if only to fill the silence that was beginning to border upon awkward.

"I think that was probably the worst dinner party I've ever been to."

Regulus made a small noise of amusement, though not quite a laugh.

"I've been to worse if you can believe it. The Selwyn family always hosts a horrid ball each summer. I dread it every year."

"I don't envy you. Not if tonight was anything to judge by." She supplied, before backtracking quickly. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"Not at all." He assured her, stopping a moment before speaking again. "You'll have to forgive Montague and Wilkes, I believe they fail to distinguish talent outside of their families and social circles as legitimate."

"And _you_ do?" Efa guessed warily.

"Of course." He supplied, the answer coming naturally to him.

For some reason, her heart began beating faster at his answer, at the bit of validation he had just given her. Did he really believe that she possessed legitimate talent despite not being born a pure-blood?

"Really?" She asked, unable to contain her surprise. "You disagree with them?"

"I believe-" He began before pausing, seeming to take great care in how he presented his answer. "That purity of blood plays a large role in magical capability. I also believe, however, that there are exceptions – that there are a small few who are capable of surpassing the limits of their birth."

Was that a compliment or an insult? She couldn't decide.

Regulus continued.

"It is my belief that these individuals," He looked to her, gaze unreadable. "Individuals like yourself, Efa, should be allowed to flourish and make use of themselves under…_proper_ instruction and guidance."

"But what about those who don't make the cut?" She asked, challenging his views. "What about all the other squibs and half-bloods and muggle-borns?"

"It's not for me to say." He replied aloofly. "But I agree with Ms. Evans that hard work will prove who will rise and who will fall. Severus, for example, is consistently at the top of our house in his marks. He will become a great wizard, I have no doubt. Lily Evans, though born of muggles, made head girl. And you, Efa, you are one of the brightest witches I have ever met. People like you three deserve the chance to advance, to be useful in something greater than yourselves."

Efa frowned, not making sense of what that could be.

"And what is that?" She asked, brows furrowing together.

They came to an abrupt stop outside the door to the Ravenclaw common room.

He did not answer, only giving a small smile instead, one of the few times she had ever seen one on his face. It seemed out of place, she decided, though she could not deny she liked the way it looked on him. The soft tipping of his lips upwards cut through the severity of his aristocratic features.

It looked almost warm. Almost, but not quite.

"One more thing." He stated then, looking like he had suddenly remembered something. He slipped his hands inside his robes to pull something out that Efa had yet to realize she'd lost. "You dropped this today. I picked it up before anyone could see it."

She stepped forward and reached for it, eager to have the photograph back in her possession.

Before she could grab it, however, Regulus pulled it back, just out of reach. He leaned down to bring his head dangerously close to hers, lowering his voice despite the fact that they were alone outside the Ravenclaw common room.

"I would be careful, in the future." Voiced the Slytherin prefect as he murmured his advice softly. "There are many wizards with little knowledge of the muggle world who might view such clothing as enticing."

He held the photograph back out and promptly stepped back, this time allowing her to take it from his grasp. She could not help how her cheeks heated involuntarily at his warning.

"I'll keep it in mind." She breathed, suddenly very eager to be on the other side of the door.

Efa turned slightly, rubbing her hand over the brass knob of the door and waiting to be given a riddle. Normally, she enjoyed answering the riddles that the door to the common room gave. In order to be let inside, one had to correctly answer the riddle, but today she wished she could have just opened it normally to make a quicker escape.

Regulus watched her intently as the whispering voice of the enchanted door echoed between them to voice its query.

"_What is it that given one, you shall have either two or none?"_

The eerie voice whispered the riddle aloud in a hushed tone, and Efa took a moment to contemplate the words as the answer came together in her mind.

How conveniently timed this riddle was, she could not help but think to herself, especially with what was happening in their world at this very moment – as students chose sides or fled, or were forced into making decisions that held disastrous consequences. It was a harrowing thought, to think that the answer to the riddle would be one or the other, or none at all. It sent a shiver down her spine.

What is it that given one, you shall have either two or none…

But would she have one when the time to choose came? Or would it be made for her? Only time would tell.

She spoke confidently when she was sure that she had the correct answer.

"A choice."

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**Reviews!**

**ForeverCharmed00 - **Thank you so much for your review, and I'm so glad that you think Regulus is written okay so far. It's a bit of a struggle, but I am giving it my best! Love your pen name by the way.

**Guest (Lyanna) - **Don't worry, next chapter is dedicated to the Hogsmeade date, and it's fairly fluffy, I couldn't resist! As far as the Dark Arts go, I believe it's any magic used that is for the purpose or intent of causing harm in a serious way, but there could be a better definition out there, because it does seem like a structured field of study. As for Rabastan, you'll just have to wait and see, but it definitely ties into the plot for later

**Love Fiction 2019 - **I just really love Adam Driver, haha. I was also thinking Timothee Chalamet might be a good match, but Adam Driver just does so well at delivering a dark and broody aura that it seemed to fit better!

**Salted Chips - **Uhhhhh, best user name ever. And thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Please continue to let me know what you think and offer any constructive criticism you may have :)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N - I come bearing gifts of a Hogsmeade trip. I felt the need to add some light-heartedness to the mix, because things get darker and stay darker as the story progresses. So enjoy it, because there won't be a lot of it after this! I'm just wrapping up chapter 23 as I post this and wow what a difference in overall tone as the war progresses. But that's the way war works, I suppose.**

**Question: Do you guys have fancasts for the marauders era? Who would you choose to play some of your favourite characters from that time period? (Bonus points if you tell me who you'd choose for my OCs too!). I have my own ideas, but I love to see who other people pick.**

**Review replies are located at the bottom, thank you to those who take time to leave their thoughts below :)**

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_November, 1977_

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Remus Lupin shifted back and forth in the chilly air as he waited patiently by the gates of the courtyard that led to Hogsmeade.

The Scottish Highlands always grew steadily colder much earlier than the rest of the country, but it seemed that this year might herald a colder than average winter if the current autumn weather was anything to judge by. A front had blown through the night before, and the day was windier than normal, the frigid gusts violently tearing decaying leaves from the trees that led towards the picturesque village.

Remus hoped that Efa had thought to wear her mittens and a muffler with the standard, school-issued winter over-cloak. It was just too cold to be out without them.

On second thought, the idea occurred to him then, perhaps it would be best if she had left her mittens behind. That way he could take her hands in his while using the excuse of helping to keep them warm.

Yes, he concluded, it would be quite convenient if she had left them behind for their date.

If Remus were being honest with himself, he was still pleasantly surprised that she had agreed to accompany him today. He was also slightly worried that she had not completely comprehended the context in which he had originally voiced the question. The truth would soon be known though, and hopefully it would not be awkward if she had not understood that he had intended this to be an outing of the romantic nature.

He was well aware that this would be her first date. He was also aware that it would be his as well – unless one counted the many times his three trouble-making friends had tried to set him up on dates over the last few years, each of which he had either turned down, or not realised it was a date until he was already alone with whichever girl they shoved at him, who was always very disappointed when he left early and with much awkwardness.

But Efa had not the time for such silliness, or so she had always said. There were books for her to read, after all, so why waste one's time away from the library?

Efa Hathaway, as she had claimed on multiple occasions, was far more content with her books and studies than she was with any notions of romance or giddy feelings of the heart's longing. For the longest time, he had been certain she was a creature who simply did not care to entertain the idea of such things, which was why he had never been confident enough to ask until now. He had never wanted to overstep where he was not wanted.

But she had said _yes_, and it pleased him to think that perhaps he was wanted by her in some sort of capacity that went beyond the bounds of their current relationship, whatever that might look like.

He just hoped that she had understood his intentions, or else he would feel quite stupid for having let his hopes up.

Either way, no matter how she interpreted what the time they spent together today meant, he was just glad to be spending it with her.

"Remus!"

He turned nervously after finally hearing her voice calling his name in that thick Welsh accent of hers. She was a bit late, most of the other students had already begun to make their way towards the village. Remus didn't mind though. In all honesty, it might be nice to have the walk to themselves and away from prying eyes.

The young man took a moment to take in the image before him as the witch approached.

Efa Hathaway was no longer the gangly and awkward looking youth she had been when they had first met. Time was allowing her to blossom in ways he had never guessed she might.

She had not been the prettiest first year, not by a long shot. Her hair had dwarfed her when she was younger, before she had learned to manage those wild curls. Her limbs had been thin and wiry, and her smile gaping and gummy from loss of the last few baby teeth.

Now, however, now he saw a lovely young woman instead of the mangy-haired, gap-toothed youth she had been for the first couple years of their friendship. They had all grown so much since that first and second year of Hogwarts.

Her cheeks were pink from the cold, the lower half of her face concealed by a thick red muffler that he had given to her as a Christmas present some years ago. His mother had knitted it herself.

He noted in disappointment that she was, indeed, wearing her mittens.

"Are you ready?" He asked politely once she had come to a stop in front of him, eyes crinkling from a smile that was concealed under the red scarf. "Warm enough?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry I'm late. I was putting the finishing touches on an essay." She explained, though he was not surprised to hear that.

It was often she lost track of time when she was absorbed in school work.

"Shall we go?" He asked then, offering an arm uncertainly.

His heart nearly skipped a beat when she took it, stepping closely to him as they began down the path. He was glad for the cold nipping at his cheeks, because he knew they were flushed at the idea of being in close proximity to her.

"I…" He began uncertainly, feeling the need to just go ahead and state what was on his mind. "I wanted to talk to you about our time today. I'd intended it to be…well…"

"A date?" She supplied helpfully, seemingly at ease with the word and all its implications.

"Yes." He nodded, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "I just wanted to make the intentions clear, I wasn't sure if I had established that when I first asked you."

Efa laughed softly to herself, her breathy voice sending puffs of steam into the cold air.

"To be honest, it took me a while to figure that out. Gwyn says I'm rather dense with these things." She began, and he waited eagerly for her to continue. "But a date is fine, so long as we agree to still be friends if nothing comes of this. Those are my terms."

He nearly tripped over his own feet hearing her say that, and he could not keep the grin from his lips.

"You're too much of a Ravenclaw. Terms and Conditions? What is this, a contract?" He laughed, and she joined in with him.

"Those are my terms, take them or leave them!" She reiterated haughtily, sticking her nose in the air for emphasis.

"I suppose I'll take them." He chuckled, imitating her tone.

They laughed some more as they continued down that well-worn path, huddling close for warmth as they went. So far, the day was off to a perfect start. He felt as though nothing could possibly bring him down.

"Would you mind if we popped in for a drink first to warm up? I can hardly feel my face." She shuddered as Hogsmeade came into view.

"I was just thinking to mention heading to the Three Broomsticks first, unless you'd prefer Madam Puddifoot's…" He trailed off, bracing himself in case that was where she preferred.

He found himself hoping desperately her answer would be no. The inside of that horrid tea shop looked like a five-year-old girl's paradise with its pink and lacy décor and sickly-sweet perfumes that permeated the air so heavily. With the enhanced sense of smell that came from his _condition_, that dainty little tea shop was a very special type of hell on earth.

"Oh good heavens, no." Replied Efa, to his immense relief. "That place is a bit over the top. Do you have anything you need to pick up while we're out?"

"Just some more quills, I think. Maybe some sweets – I gave the last of my chocolate stash to a homesick first-year." He replied. "What about you?"

"I need some ingredients for a potions project from Ceridwen's. It might be nice to stop by Tomes and Scrolls to look at the books too, if you don't mind. I want to see if they're carrying the updated edition of '_Noteworthy and Beneficial Counter-Hexes'._"

"Not at all, that sounds nice." Stated Remus truthfully.

But if he were being honest, just about anything sounded nice if she kept holding on to his arm like this. She could have walked the two of them straight off a cliff and it would have been unlikely he would take notice of it.

They continued conversing comfortably until they arrived through the threshold of the Three Broomsticks, the cosy little tavern a haven from the cold. It was already packed with other students who had thought along the same lines as them, hoping to warm up after the walk from the castle.

Madam Rosmerta was as happy as ever to see them, especially happy with so many paying customers. Remus found the two of them a nice little corner booth, and they slid into opposite sides of the old wooden table, removing their mittens and thick scarves and relaxing into their seats.

The requested drinks were delivered quickly, and soon enough, the duo was sipping happily at the frothy and warm liquid.

Remus sighed as the drink warmed his body - hints of butterscotch, cardamom, nutmeg, and the warm heavy cream dancing on his tongue. There was a reason why the drink was such a popular one when the weather took a turn for the colder. It was just what one craved in such chilly weather.

"Tell me about how your classes are going." Piped Efa suddenly, and he centred his attention back onto the young woman across from him.

"Oh, they're all fine. We're all just thinking about the N.E.W.T's. Hopefully they aren't as tough as the acronym implies." He informed her quickly. "How are you finding your N.E.W.T level classes so far?"

"They aren't so bad, I'm enjoying them actually."

"Even Potions?"

"Especially Potions."

He took another sip of his butter beer, savouring the spiced and creamy liquid before he asked after something else that had been troubling him since hearing of it.

"Lily told us about your Slug Club dinner, I'm sorry to hear it was such a catastrophe." He mentioned, purposefully leaving it vague so that she could expand if she chose or switch topics if she found it uncomfortable.

Lily had done far more than just mention it, in fact. She had yelled about it for at least an hour, and quite loudly at that.

The fiery spirited, red-headed Gryffindor had returned to their common room escorted by Otto Kaiser and looking positively enraged. She had vented to James and the rest of them with vigour before finally calming down enough to give them an idea of what had transpired. From the way Lily had described the evening, it had been unpleasant at best.

The Marauders had received a play by play description of the horrible dinner event – of Montague and Wilkes attempting to humiliate Efa, of Slughorn's indifference to it all, and of the foul slur the two Slytherins had directed towards Lily when she made a stand. They had all been appalled that Montague would use such language so openly, and in front of a professor at that.

People were growing bolder as the darkest wizard since Grindelwald gained more power and supporters, even within Hogwarts. Certain students found that they were able to get away with more, to speak of their prejudices more freely, and to terrorise others as they pleased; and with professors like Slughorn, who were too interested in staying in the good graces of the powerful families to say anything, it only made the situation worse.

Sirius had to physically restrain James from marching down to the Slytherin common room and challenging Montague to a duel then and there. James had been outraged.

It was not the first time Lily had been called a mudblood (outside the incident that involved a certain greasy-haired Slytherin from a year prior), but it was the first time that James had caught wind of it since the last time it had happened, and that was another story entirely.

Subsequently, by the next day, Montague had spent much of his time in the hospital wing after being hit with a 'liquid loo' jinx that took his control of his bowel movements away from him. The culprit had not been found, but James had looked quite pleased with himself later that evening.

In this case, revenge was a dish best served in the bathroom.

"Oh, Remus," She began, exhaling softly and shaking her head. "It was _horrible_. Those dinners are usually bad enough, but this certainly took the cake. Did she tell you what they called her? And that Slughorn didn't say a word in her defence?"

"She did." He replied sombrely, remembering how angry he had found himself as well that night after hearing the story from Lily. "She mentioned they heckled you too, asking after your father like that as if they didn't know."

"Well, I suppose there's parts of the story they actually didn't know." She looked at him, eyes narrowing in mirth despite the subject being discussed, knowing that he would pick up on what she was hinting at. Remus Lupin knew the truth about her, after all, and about her father too. "But it was horrid all the same. Lily was marvellous though, you should have seen her. I thought Slughorn was going to die of embarrassment when she went after him."

"That doesn't surprise me." He admitted. "Lily doesn't put up with that sort of thing, does she? I've seen her when she gets angry, it's certainly a sight to behold."

They both shared a grin, though Efa's smile began to slip from her face after a moment.

"She was so fearless." Efa mumbled, casting her gaze down into her mug. "And all I could do was sit there and stutter. I'd love to have even a pinch of that bravery."

Remus frowned. He knew that this was something she was self-conscious about, and he hated to hear her make comparisons like that. Not everyone was a brave Lily Evans or a reckless Sirius Black – and Remus would daresay that was a good thing. The world would not be able to handle it.

It just so happened that Remus thought the witch across from him was plenty brave. He imagined it must have taken quite a bit of courage to leave everything she knew behind and enter a world of magic all by herself. He had a great respect for muggle-born witches and wizards, for what they accomplished was certainly no easy feat.

"Bravery doesn't always mean bold words, you know." He reminded her, and she looked up to meet his eyes as he continued. "I think bravery comes in many forms."

"I suppose that's true." Conceded the curly haired witch, though it looked as though she was not quite convinced. "I'm just glad Regulus Black was there, he's the one who calmed the situation down. He even walked me back to the common room afterwards."

"Did he now?" Remus replied carefully after a moment.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. That information was news to him, Lily had not mentioned that bit.

The strangest feeling erupted in his chest then, as he heard Efa speak about the Slytherin boy in a show of gratitude. 'Slytherin' and 'gratitude' were generally words that didn't do well in the same sentence together.

"Mhmm." She hummed, taking a brief pause before she spoke again. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if I've misjudged him. He said the most peculiar thing when we were walking back to the common room."

"I'm sure you haven't misjudged him, not if the stories Sirius tells are anything to go by." Stated Remus in complete assurance, though Efa only shook her head.

"But suppose I have? He said he disagreed with Montague and Wilkes and that he believed Lily was right. He even told me he thought I was one of the brightest witches he's ever met. Can you believe that?"

"No." Remus answered frankly. "I can't. And you shouldn't either."

"What do you mean?" Efa asked curiously, brows furrowing in a way that made him feel the need to clarify what he had said.

"It's not that I disagree with what he said, but I suppose it's hard to imagine a person like him paying compliments of that nature to somebody he believes is beneath him, not unless he has something to gain from it."

She gave a slow nod, picking up her mug and swirling the contents inside before taking a small sip.

"Then maybe we've both misjudged him. I felt he was speaking quite genuinely."

"Maybe." Allowed Remus cautiously, suddenly feeling slightly wary about the younger Black sibling. In a sudden need he felt to change the course of the conversation, he continued. "I still can't believe that the two of us got stuck with the Slytherin prefects."

Efa's eyes flashed in amusement at the comment.

"What, not enjoying your quality time with our dear friend, Miss Parkinson?" She teased, a knowing look in her gaze that Remus could only snort at.

He could not help the urge his lip gave to curl as Maxine Parkinson's face came to mind. The girl was a terror, and he had to use every bit of his self-restraint to make it through their rounds together. Maxine was a snooty bully, plain and simple, and an incredibly foul one at that.

"She's been talking non-stop about her engagement to Edmund Flint. And when she's not talking about that, she's spewing some sort of rubbish about her family and their importance and what not." He scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all, and of the many hours he'd had to bite his tongue to keep from losing his cool and telling her straight. "Not that I'd understand any of it, you know with my being a '_filthy half-blooded blood-traitor'_ and all – or so she likes to remind me."

"That's horrible!" Efa exclaimed sympathetically, which Remus found pleasantly validating. "I'm happy that Regulus and I are getting on well, I don't know how you make it through your rounds without ripping your hair out."

There it was again, that strange feeling tugging at his heart when she mentioned the younger Black sibling.

Remus understood that Efa had a strong tendency to live in her own little world of academia and theory, often lost in her thoughts and looking as though her mind were many leagues away from her body. She was a logical girl, but he also knew she was somewhat naïve to a fault and liked to look for the good in others.

It seemed that she believed that she had found some good in Regulus Black.

However, if there was one thing that the young Gryffindor knew for certain, it was that their world was at war, and that there was likely not _one speck_ of good inside Regulus Black – despite Efa's claims. He'd heard enough of Sirius' stories of what life with his family had been like prior to leaving it behind to make a fair assumption of that fact.

They could not afford to give the benefit of the doubt or to try and find good in those who had likely already sided with the enemy. They were at war; such things were a luxury. And in Remus' mind, Regulus Black was affiliated with his enemies, if he had not joined forces with them already.

Remus ripped himself from those darker thoughts of war and that odd feeling in his chest when Efa spoke up again.

"I wish we had been paired together." She sighed wistfully, finishing the last of her butterbeer and setting the mug back down with a delicate clink. "Wouldn't that have been nice?"

His heart gave a small thump in his chest, and his previous thoughts of Black and a wizarding war seemed to melt away.

How nice, indeed. Remus would have given the world to trade Maxine for Efa, to patrol with the girl who made his heart flutter and his head spin instead of the detestable arrangement he had.

"It would have." He agreed strongly, downing the last of his drink as well and leaning closer across the booth. "But at least we have this time together."

If his friends could have heard him then, they would have burst into laughter at such a cliché statement. He couldn't help it though, it was what he felt. He owed it to himself to be true to what he was feeling, especially since their time together was coming to an end.

He knew that his time with her was limited. He would graduate at the end of the school year and go on to join the Order. After he joined the ranks of Dumbledore's secret resistance, his future would be uncertain. He was prepared for the fact that his life might be one of the many forfeited in an effort to secure peace for the wizarding world. So many had died already, and many more would follow – and he was not naïve enough to think he would be guaranteed to be amongst the living when the war was over.

It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Many would die, and Remus had no idea if he would be among the casualties when he joined the battle.

Not knowing if one would survive changed a person's mentality, it completely restructured how they viewed the world and everyone in it.

Time was now one of the most precious things to be had, now that he feared he might not have much more of it. In fact, knowing that things would soon become very dangerous for him was the catalyst he had needed to finally act upon an infatuation years in the making.

He would soon be on the front-lines of the battle against the Dark Lord's forces, and that sobering thought was what had spurred him to ask Efa on their date.

Because, if he had the courage to duel with Death Eaters when the time came, he could surely muster up the courage to let his feelings be known.

Efa opened her mouth, looking like she might say something else before she snapped it shut. A moment passed before she finally settled on a simple phrase, the words accompanied with a grave look.

"Yes." Agreed his date quietly, suddenly looking quite sombre. It seemed to him that she also likely understood why he had finally asked her, for her expression had fallen, and her eyes swirled in uncertainty and apprehension. "I'm glad we're here together."

In one sudden and fumbling movement, he reached across the table to grab her hand, taking her thin and delicate fingers in his own in a small show of affection.

She allowed him to take it.

.

* * *

.

"Well? How was it?"

Efa had hardly taken her seat with her two friends on their usual spot on the couch near the fire place before Gwyn began her interrogation. Otto leaned forward as well, looking vaguely intrigued.

The curly-haired witch took a moment to think back on her day, reviewing the time spent with Remus Lupin in her mind as she thought about what she ought to say in response.

Efa had decided that this business of 'going on a date' was not so bad after all.

She'd had a very pleasant time, actually. They had talked of interesting things, visited shops, and sampled sweets at Honeydukes. Her heart felt lighter, and it occurred to her then that she had not once thought about all her worries throughout the duration of their outing.

In Remus' company, she always felt comfortable. She felt she could speak freely, knowing that they both held each other's secrets. He was always kind, always a good conversation partner, and always a decent companion.

Though Efa could only wonder…was 'comfortable' how one was supposed to feel on a date? Was that all there was to it? Things had felt, well, normal between them, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't seem to find anything within her that suggested there might be something else there besides friendship.

In a trashy romance novel Gwyn had lent her in fifth year, the main character had described things like "fireworks", "hearts slamming in chests", "quivering lips", and a variety of other ridiculous sounding things that she had scoffed at. Efa had felt none of that, though she wasn't sure taking advice from Gwyn's romance novel was the best course of action in the first place.

Her heart did not slam in her chest when she saw Remus. Her lips did not quiver at the sight of him. She felt no fireworks at their proximity.

Efa fought the urge to shake her head at those ideas. She probably ought not to have read such a silly piece of literature (if one could even call it that) in the first place.

Perhaps those things came with time? Perhaps it would develop on its own? And besides, to be able to be comfortable and open with someone was something she treasured. Maybe she had no need of something like 'fireworks'. Perhaps she could just be comfortable and content with that.

Efa gave a casual shrug of the shoulders as she answered.

"It was nice."

Gwyn and Otto shared a look with each other, one that Efa was oblivious to as she wrestled some of the blanket away from Otto so she could huddle underneath it with them.

"Nice?" Otto questioned slowly, and Efa turned her head to meet his expectant look. "That's it?"

"Yes." She nodded, elaborating when Gwyn motioned at her to continue. "It was a good time, I always enjoy spending time with Remus."

"You didn't feel anything, oh, I don't know, a bit special? Nothing felt a little warm and fuzzy?" demanded Gwyn, looking a bit disappointed at the lack of juicy updates.

"I'm not sure..." Efa relayed uncertainly, rethinking all the interactions they'd had and analysing how she had felt during each of them. "I felt warm when we were at the Three Broomsticks, but that was likely the butterbeer."

"That's it?"

"He did hold my hand, actually…"

"Oh, that's something! How was it?"

Efa paused, thinking back on the experience before giving a simple, one-worded answer with a very serious expression.

"Sweaty."

Gwyn heaved a sigh of exasperation.

"Well, at least it was a nice time." She allowed, seeming to deflate. "I was so sure though…"

Efa gave a slow nod, thinking quietly for a moment before she spoke. Her tone was soft, calculative when she voiced her opinion.

"I'm glad I went. It was fun, and I think you were right, Gwyn." She declared. "We should live to the fullest while we still can."

"That-" Began Otto dubiously and with one eyebrow raised precariously high above the other. "is excessively morbid."

"Oh, hush." Gwyn swatted at his arm in annoyance.

"No, I really mean it." Efa began again, looking between them meaningfully. "I think it's time I faced the facts. I spent the whole summer pretending this war didn't exist and that _You Know Who _wasn't winning it. So, I'm glad I went, because things are going to get worse and I want good memories to hold on to when that happens."

"Well…I bet Lupin wouldn't have any problems with you holding on to him when things get dark." Otto smirked at his innuendo, dodging another swat from Gwyn as he gave a short laugh. "But I've had enough depressing conversation for one day. You're starting to sound like me, Effie."

"Agreed! No more dismal topics, I forbid it." Commanded Gwyn, wagging her finger back and forth like a mother might whilst scolding a child. "I say we put aside school work for once and enjoy ourselves - at least until Efa's got to go for her rounds. What d'you say?"

"I suppose I could be amenable to a bit of relaxation." Otto stated loftily after a moment of consideration.

"I bought some hot chocolate mix at Honeydukes today." Efa offered with a grin. "We could mix some up and play chess?"

"That sounds heavenly." Admitted Otto as he looked to Gwyn. "Do you still have that ancient chess set?"

"It's not that old, only from the sixteen-hundreds." Defended Gwyn with a pout.

"That's the definition of an antique, in case you weren't aware."

"It's an heirloom, Otto, there's a difference!"

"Hardly."

Efa smiled to herself as she began to relax. There were patrols later in the evening, but she was happy and content with where she was at the moment. The day had been wonderful.

.

* * *

.

Efa's cheeks were beginning to hurt.

She had been smiling for the better part of the day, and now, as she slipped under her covers after returning from her patrols and taking a long and hot shower, she was noticing how tense the muscles around her mouth felt. She hadn't smiled so much in ages.

Even her patrols with Regulus had been pleasant. She was beginning to feel more at ease around him, especially when they spent their time discussing academics. Regulus was very clever, and she enjoyed their academic conversations and discussion of things like history, potions, philosophy, and ideas.

He was one of the few that could keep up with her thoughts, and it was refreshing to be able to speak openly about her many ideas and theories with somebody who could both understand what she was saying and contribute to the conversation.

Their talks were stimulating, which was a fact she appreciated and was slowly beginning to treasure.

She and Regulus had spent the better part of the last four hours together hammering out the general idea of their potions project as they patrolled, of what they wanted their potion to accomplish and how they would brew it to be able to do so. She'd truly come alive during their conversation, bouncing ideas and theories off him in a flurry of excitement of the possibilities to be had.

It had been a delightful evening, and the idea of making progress in their project was something that truly excited her. She could not wait to meet him again in the restricted section on Thursday to continue their research.

It was a small triumph of sorts, to find bits of happiness and reasons to smile in the middle of a war, but she would allow herself this little portion of peace for the time being. In such times of terror and uncertainty, moments like the ones she'd had today would soon become priceless.

If only she had known how soon that would be.

.

* * *

.

**Reviews!**

**Love Fiction 2019 - **Thank you!

**Guest (Random Reader) - **I'm so happy you're enjoying it! Don't worry, I've written quite a bit from Regulus' POV in the upcoming chapters!

**Guest - **You'll just have to wait and see! I do plan on writing Efa becoming involved in the war and discovering what she's willing to fight for, but I don't think we see any of that until chapter 17 or 18. Thanks for the review :)

**Wikked - **Ahhhhh, thank you!

**Guest (Lyanna) - **Here is your shameless fluff! Yes, Efa has begun to take a little notice of Regulus, and vice-versa, good eye. I agree that they're all just frightened of loosing their privilege and having muggles or muggle-borns in their society at the end of the day, that's probably why Grindelwald's ideologies were more dangerous than Voldemort's. (I'm also really excited you picked up on the subtle hints of sexism, because I expand on that later). I'm so happy you're enjoying it and always look forward to your detailed reviews. You're not chatty at all, it's an honour to get your reviews, so thank you for writing them!


	10. Chapter 10

_November, 1977_

_._

Alchemy was a lot like chemistry if one paused to think about it.

If chemistry were magical, that is.

It was a unique subject, one that Efa excelled at due to her equally unique background. Because, even if muggles had little to no knowledge of all things magical, they did tend to excel in the sciences and mathematics.

The concept of transmutations was a core principle of the alchemical arts, the theory and practice of taking something and transforming it permanently into something else. Not a simple transfiguration that would eventually wear off or could be changed back with magic, transmutation involved using magic _and_ science to convert every single molecule, every atom into something else – and that change was of the more permanent nature.

To properly transmute one substance into a different substance, like turning a lump of coal into a nugget of gold, one had to know the entire chemical makeup of both materials. To transmute coal to gold, one had to be aware that coal was made up mostly carbon, with trace elements of hydrogen, sulphur, oxygen, and nitrogen. One also had to know the properties of each of those elements. It was, at the very base level, simple chemistry.

Well, not quite so simple – at least, not when magic was added to the mix.

It was an especially intriguing art for one reason in particular: it could not exist without the advancements that muggles had made in science. There was a reason, she suspected, why there were very few pure-blooded students in the specialised elective course.

She was currently at the top of the class, and she hung on to every word Professor Sunal uttered like it was the most fascinating thing she had ever heard in her entire life.

All the way from Izmir, Turkey, Professor Mehmet Sunal was one of the best professors she'd had so far during her education at Hogwarts. The elderly man made his subject come to life, and challenged those who had managed to make it into his competitive elective class to new levels.

Efa had always enjoyed a challenge, and her alchemy class was no different. She was determined to rise to the top, to show that she was capable.

One might say it was vain of her, but it was a vice she had never been able to stamp out of her personality. When it came to academics, she simply _had_ to be the best. Nothing less would suffice. It was vanity at the end of the day, but Efa had simply come to embrace it as a flaw of hers.

Efa continued to scratch away at the yellow parchment underneath her hand, her quill moving quickly as she poured out her ideas and words into intricate and well-worded sentences for an essay that Professor Sunal had assigned them.

The hours seemed to pass like minutes; they often passed quickly when she was lost in thought and applying herself in her studies. Time became meaningless – only the books, quills, and parchment were of any importance to her.

The sun eventually set without her taking notice of it. Students filed in and out, but Efa did not see them. Little sounds could be heard here and there, but the noise hardly registered on her ears.

This essay in particular was focusing on the confusing esoteric code that an ancient Islamic alchemist, Jabir ibn Hayyan, had written one of his greatest works in. The work was titled 'The Book of Stones', and was rumoured to focus on the idea of something called '_Tawkin'_, or the creation of artificial life using Alchemy.

The library was mostly empty now, as she glanced around and began to pack up her materials into her book satchel.

Slinging the satchel over her shoulder and letting her hair down from the messy knot she kept it in so that it would not bother her while she studied, she made her way down one of the many rows of books to return one she had borrowed for the evening.

Her footsteps echoed down the stone that lay in-between shelves, and she noted unhappily that the stool she had used earlier was gone. The shelf she had grabbed her heavy book from was higher than what she could reach on her own.

She tried anyways, lifting herself up on her toes and extending her arm as far as it could reach in an attempt to re-shelf the thick text, pursing her lips when the shelf remained just above her efforts. It was no use, she'd just have to use her wand.

Suddenly, and without warning, the book was snatched from her grasp.

She whirled, only to find that the book was in the hands of the seventh-year Slytherin she immediately recognised as Rabastan Lestrange.

He was not looking at her, but rather at the title of the book he'd taken.

Efa was flustered, and she found the words she wanted to say were stuck in her throat, the demands to have her book back not leaving her lips.

After a moment, he spoke, a deep and silky voice reading the title aloud.

"Jabir ibn Hayyan's _Book of Stones_?" His tone was smooth, almost pacifying to listen to, like the soft rumblings of a lion before it attacked its prey. If Efa had not already been wary, it might have lulled her into a false sense of ease.

She did not answer for a moment, floundering as she attempted to find her voice.

"Did you –" She stopped when she noticed her voice came out too soft to be heard, starting again with a bit more force. "Did you need it?"

"No." He stated, drawing the word out in a drawl. "I simply noticed that you were having trouble returning it to its spot. Allow me."

Efa said nothing, simply watching him as he easily placed the book back on the higher portion of the shelf. She shifted her weight uneasily between her feet.

Something about him set her on edge, though she could not place what that might be.

However, if there was one thing that she and many other women seemed to have in common, it was a keen sense of intuition. Joke how one might about the phenomena dubbed as 'women's intuition', but it was something Efa took seriously, for it had yet to fail her.

"A fascinating read, I'm sure. The professors say that you're well adept with alchemy, perhaps one of the most promising the school has seen in years. Alchemical talent is highly sought after by some, were you aware of that?"

In any other situation, she would have been heavily flattered and gratified to hear those words, but she felt none of that now.

"I pay attention, you see. To many things, the things that often go overlooked." He continued, and with every word he said, she felt her intuition doubling down on the sense that something about him was not quite right.

"That's – that's nice." She stuttered, taking a step back. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to go, to retreat, to put distance between them. "I'm late for dinner though, so if you'll excuse me-"

He side stepped her, placing an arm on the book shelf and leaning against it, effectively blocking her escape.

"I notice things. I watch." He reiterated, seeming to take pleasure in how nervous he had made the Ravenclaw prefect. "I've noticed how much time you've been spending with our mutual friend Regulus, too. He's spoken highly of you - a nobody by our standards."

Despite the situation and the apparent insult, she could not help how her ears perked at hearing that Regulus had spoken well of her to others.

The Slytherin continued.

"I don't blame you for trying to work your way into his good graces. The protection that being associated with one of us offers is invaluable, especially now." He glanced out at the window that was situated at the end of the small isle of books, looking past Efa's shoulder in contemplation.

"I'm sorry?" The witch sputtered at his words.

"Things are changing in our world, you're clever to try and solidify your position in the new era to come. Self-preservation is a trait highly associated with the Slytherin House, did you know that?"

"What are you on about?" She finally blurted before she could stop herself, but she could not help it. It was only the tiniest show of bravery, but one she felt was necessary.

Just what was he insinuating? She didn't like what he was getting at. Just who did he think he was, marching in to try and intimidate and sling accusations her way?

_A member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, that's who. _Efa reminded herself sternly then, coming to the conclusion that she ought to be careful with her words.

He pushed himself off the bookshelf lazily, continuing with his previous thoughts.

"You should know that these things come with a price, though. You'll have your uses when the time comes, no doubt." He continued, a strange sort of grin stretching on his face. "What other _uses_ has Regulus found for you in the meantime, I wonder?"

The last question was not spoken innocently, a foul sounding insinuation hiding between the lines of his last statement accompanied with a leer that made her feel that she needed to put space between them – _immediately_.

"You're wrong." She stated, though her tone shook as she attempted to stand her ground, giving away just how nervous she was. It was a fact that did not go unnoticed, and was met with a throaty chuckle that was possibly one of the most ominous sounds she'd heard to date. "Let me through."

"You aren't enjoying our chat? Pity." He gave a faux pout.

"We're just working on a project together, nothing else." Tried Efa, suddenly beginning to feel desperate for an escape.

But she was trapped between Rabastan Lestrange and the stained-glass window behind her. There was nowhere to go unless she wanted to hurl herself from the heights of the library window.

Which, as it currently stood, was not sounding like a bad option compared to what was in front of her.

"I don't like being lied to." His wicked grin widened. "Would you like to know how I handle people who don't tell me the truth?"

He took another step forward, and Efa took multiple steps back this time, drawing her wand in one swift motion, her heart pounding rapidly.

"Let me pass, Lestrange." She breathed, voice hardly above a whisper.

"My, my, I didn't think you had it in you." He sneered condescendingly, not yet having bothered to draw his wand. He remained unmoving and unperturbed at the fact she had her wand pointed at him, clearly not viewing it as any sort of threat. "Bravo, little Ravenclaw."

"Move aside." She whispered, extending her wand further, the tip pointed directly towards his chest. "Now."

It was false bravado, and she was sure he was aware of it.

A horrible, long moment passed between them, and Efa did not dare to even blink.

After a tense silence, he finally stepped to the side, though the amusement remained clearly visible in his gaze. It was obvious to both that he had allowed her to have this victory.

"Go on then." He prompted with a low laugh as he stood aside for her and made a shooing motion with his hands. "Run along."

Efa didn't need to be told twice.

.

* * *

.

"Your brother hexed me again, Black." Growled Vance Mulciber as he threw himself angrily into a plush armchair in the Slytherin sixth and seventh-year dormitory. "I swear by Merlin that if I ever catch that filthy blood traitor I'll send him straight to his grave."

Regulus lowered his book to his lap, sending Mulciber a lofty glare.

It seemed that no matter where he went, murmurs of his disgraced brother and reminders of his detestable shenanigans followed Regulus everywhere. It was a constant reminder of his responsibility to make up for the loss of face that Sirius had brought to their family, a burden of responsibility that Regulus had not wanted but had inherited anyway.

He also had a sinking suspicion that his fellow housemates liked to mention Sirius or his activities just to get a rise out of the pureblood heir, who hated hearing of him. Because, as much as he would have liked to pretend otherwise, he would never truly be free of Sirius.

"You'll be doing the wizarding world a favour." He stated coolly. "Unless someone beats you to it. I doubt he'll live to see the end of the war."

"Maybe it will be you to kill him." Suggested Avery from his seat with a smirk. "Wouldn't that be justice served?"

Mulciber laughed at that, though Regulus kept his face about that statement was unsettling to Regulus.

If they would both be fighting on opposite sides of the war, it was a possibility. Regulus might be the one to kill him, or even the other way around. Say what one might about Sirius Black, his brother was an excellent dueller.

But so was Regulus.

He wondered how it might feel, to duel his brother, a battle ending only in death.

"Perhaps." He drawled, snapping his book shut.

The words on the pages no longer held his interest. He felt strangely rattled, though his exterior showed none of his internal affliction.

"I'm surprised your mother didn't kill him when he tried to leave." Rosier stated quietly, throwing Regulus a knowing look before returning to the glossy-paged weekly edition of _Which Broomstick _in his hands.

"She didn't have the chance." Regulus remarked off-handedly, thinking back to the night that Sirius had abandoned them, choosing blood-traitors over his own flesh and blood. "He's always been fast."

Avery made a small sound of disapproval before turning his attention to Mulciber, the two Black brothers forgotten for the time being.

"How's your little experiment with the MacDonald girl coming along?"

At this question, Mulciber's face seemed to light up.

Regulus was aware that the Dark Lord had tasked his fellow housemate with exercising his use of the Imperius Curse, and Mulciber was proving to be quite talented with it.

"Successful, of course." Mulciber smirked, leaning back into his seat. "Nobody's caught on yet when I've got her under my control. She doesn't remember a thing afterwards, so my technique is improving."

"What sort of stuff do you have her do?"

"Just normal bits of her routine so far. Can't have anyone getting suspicious. I need more practice before I try anything bigger."

"What happens when you're done with your practice?" Questioned Rosier curiously.

"I'll dispose of her. She's a blood-traitor, the world'll be better off with one less."

"I suppose…" Evan trailed off, not looking completely convinced and looking as though he had agreed to Mulciber's statement with much reluctance.

Regulus tuned their conversation out, letting his gaze drift over the leather-bound book in his hands. The book had been a gift from his brother years ago, but that was another time, another era of his life that he would never get back.

He was still thinking back on what had been said of his brother, and of the unpleasant memories of the night Sirius had left their family that inevitably surfaced whenever the subject was brought up.

As much as he liked to pretend such things did not bother him, and that he had long since come to terms with what had happened, it was simply not true. All it took was a mention of his estranged brother's name and it was as though he was being catapulted back in time to relive one of the worst nights of his life.

It was the night that everything had changed, the night that all their fates had been sealed.

Regulus remembered the screaming, of his parents and Sirius yelling at each other behind closed doors in the drawing room and him trying to listen in on what was being said from the outside. To this day, he still had no idea what their original argument had been about.

He remembered Sirius bounding angrily up to his room, stuffing anything he could fit into his school trunk and yanking it down the stairs, the loud crashing of the heavy trunk on each stair step causing the paintings of his ancestors to turn lopsided and voice their disapproval from their positions on the walls.

He remembered his mother's final warning, that if Sirius left, he could never come back. Yet he'd still left, not once looking back, not even when Regulus had tried to reason with him not to leave.

He had all but begged, but it made no difference. Sirius had made his choice.

_Evil_, his brother had called them all. Mad, evil, horrid. Ashamed to be related to them. These were phrases Regulus would never forget.

Sirius had always seen the world in black and white, with nothing in-between. For Sirius things were either good or bad, evil or heroic, black or white. But Regulus saw the world in shades of grey instead.

He remembered his mother's terrifying fit of rage that had ensued, of the abuses he'd suffered that night with nobody to intervene on his behalf, not even his father. His father had left shortly after Sirius, likely to the comforting arms of his pampered mistress, abandoning his youngest to the inconsolable rage of his wife.

It was not the first night he had tasted his mother's wrath, but it was certainly the most memorable.

He remembered Kreacher's tears as the loyal old elf helped treat the deep gashes his mother had left on his back. He'd sat still on the perfectly polished mahogany wood of the staircase as Kreacher did his best to heal the wounds and stop the bleeding, all the while listening numbly to his mother's screams and wild rampaging a floor or two above him.

There was still a muted maroon stain on the stairs that his mother had sheepishly covered with a fitted rug – that was the most of an apology he had received. His back still carried the ugly raised welts and knotted scar tissue that his father's personal healer had been unable to clear away.

Dark magic always left its mark, in more ways than one.

His father was in extremely poor health now, often spending most of his time away from Grimmauld Place, and his mother continued to spiral with her mental health, becoming increasingly unstable and confused as time went on.

There were times that Regulus felt he was carrying the world on his shoulders, that the expectations of him formed a sea that he struggled to stay afloat in. He was always just on the brink of slipping beneath the waves, gasping for air at the surface.

But it would not do to dwell on such things. He had been given his lot in life, and he could not change the burdens he perceived himself to carry.

He could only continue to move forward in his mission to restore his family's name in their society and in the eyes of the Dark Lord, to be the perfect pure-blooded heir he was expected to be. That was his purpose, until the time came that his mission was accomplished.

With a glance to the enchanted clock that hovered over the fireplace, he was pleased to note that it was near the time he ought to start getting ready for his patrols.

For some reason, that came as a relief.

The air in the dungeon felt strangely suffocating, and the memories of that horrible night were still fresh in his mind's eye. It would do him good to get out and walk the castle with his patrolling partner. Perhaps they might discuss more of their idea for the outline of their potion so he could get his mind off things.

He returned his book to his trunk and pulled his outer school robe back on, smoothing his wavy hair down with his palms as he left the common room without saying goodbye to any of his housemates who lingered there.

The brisk walk did exactly as he had hoped, clearing his mind and allowing him to think unburdened once more.

By the time he saw Efa waiting for him at the end of the corridor where they usually met, he felt he was himself once more – calm, cool, collected, and all burdensome memories successfully repressed.

They began their patrols as they usually did, in relative silence until one of them began some sort of conversation. This time, however, Efa said very little when Regulus gave a few attempts to draw her in to the academic discussion he was aware she found enjoyable.

Her mind seemed far away, her eyes somewhat glass-like, as if she was looking ahead but not really seeing what was in front of her. It was clear that something was troubling her, but he did not feel it appropriate to ask.

It was a shame, though. He did enjoy their conversations, he could not deny it.

After a few attempts on his part, and a few noncommittal answers on her part, he let it be. Silence was just as well, he had little qualms with spending their rounds for that evening enjoying the quiet and peace of the castle at night.

It was nearly one in the morning, nearing the end of their rounds when that long-held peace was broken.

It was Efa who heard it first, a rattling sort of noise coming from the men's bathroom and able to be heard from beyond the door, though just barely.

She stopped abruptly, grabbing his arm and gently pulling him back. When he turned his expectant look towards her to demand what her intentions were, she only lifted a slim finger to her lips, indicating a need for silence. He heard it then as well.

He put up a hand, motioning to her to stay put as he drew his wand, intending to enter the bathroom alone. It was a male bathroom after all, and he wanted to be certain there was nobody undressed or the like before she entered.

The door creaked open, and he whispered a quiet incantation of _Lumos_, his wand tip beginning to emit a bright light that illuminated a bathroom that was void of life – or, human life, that is.

The tale-tell rumblings and rattlings coming from within a stall were noises he recognised well.

"Efa." He called lowly to his fellow prefect, when he was sure he had recognised the noise. "You can come in. It will be faster if we do this together."

She was through the doors and at his side at an instant, her own wand drawn as well, pointing towards the racket coming from within the stall. Her lips tugged downwards as she seemed to place the noises in her memory.

"A boggart, do you reckon?" She asked quietly, to which he gave a firm nod at.

Boggarts were quite common around Grimmauld Place, feeding off not only dark spaces, but dark emotions as well, and of that there was plenty. He'd had his fair share of experience in vanishing them, only to find them back within a week or so.

"Yes, I believe so." He affirmed.

"Let's get on with it then." She sighed, frowning unhappily before mumbling to herself. "I hate these things."

Regulus could only agree.

His own boggart forms over the last year seemed to constantly cycle throughout different themes. Sometimes he would see Sirius, walking away from him with his trunk in hand, telling Regulus how he'd never loved him at all (the one thing Sirius had not said but Regulus had come to believe). Sometimes he would see Kreacher's dead body. Sometimes he would see the muted bloodstains on the stairs of his home. At other times, it was more trivial things.

There was no telling as to what form it would assume this time. He hadn't seen a boggart since leaving Grimmauld Place, and much had changed since then.

"Ready?" He asked, rooting his feet firmly and preparing himself to face the horrid creature.

"Ready."

With a swish of his wand, the door to the loo slammed open, and out stepped the boggart, but there was little Regulus could have done to prepare himself for what he was now seeing.

Walburga Black had exited the stall, dressed as Regulus had last seen her from the windows of the Hogwarts Express in August. She wore her exquisitely embroidered and elegant green robes, accented with satin trimming and pressed to perfection. Her wavy hair was swept up into the intricate knot she usually wore, though the glossy black locks were now peppered with white strands here and there.

Her icy grey eyes that much mirrored his own narrowed in on Regulus, the wrinkles around her lips and brows creasing as her face morphed into a nasty sneer.

Regulus took a step back, startled.

Out of all the boggarts he'd dealt with, never once had they taken the form of his mother.

When the boggart spoke, it was in his mother's voice, and laced with all the unpleasantries she usually embodied. Her eyes bored into his, accusation and anger nearly tangible.

"_Disgrace_." She hissed, taking a step forward out of the stall. "_Disappointment. You shall bring our noble family nothing but ruin_."

The air was suddenly thin, as if all of it had been sucked out of the room. Efa said something at his side, but he did not hear her.

"_Our family legacy is tarnished by your failures, you will never live up to the name you carry!"_

The fake Walburga continued.

"_You shall ruin us! Worthless son! Curse of my womb!"_ She was screeching now, the sound so realistic it was believable to him. "_I wish it was __**you**__ who had left instead of my beloved Sirius!"_

A sound of horror slipped from his lips before he could help himself.

"Regulus!" Cried Efa, latching on to his arm and breaking his stupor in an instant. He looked wildly to her, suddenly remembering where he was and the situation at hand.

He tore his arm from hers angrily, embarrassed that she had seen this particular fear of his. The spell came easily then, as he felt hot rage and shame coursing through his veins.

"_Riddikulus!_"

The boggart swirled, the image of his mother vanishing like smoke until it had obtained a new form, this time one he recognised, but only from the coloured photo that Efa had accidentally dropped a few weeks prior.

Her sharp inhale confirmed the identity of the corpse on the floor for him.

Mr. Hathaway, Efa's dear father, lay dead on the floor, practically swimming in a pool of his own blood. Above the glassy-eyed body floated the ghostly looking cloud of the Dark Mark.

He shifted his attention away from the terrible scene and to the frightened prefect at his side, who was staring at the body with wide eyes, the outstretched hand that held her wand trembling violently.

Her greatest fear was the loss of a loved one.

It was a fear Regulus had never been presented with. He'd never loved anyone enough to ever have to fear losing them. Except, perhaps, Sirius – but Sirius was already lost to him.

"It's not real, just a boggart." She whispered this to herself a few times, before focusing back on the body of her father and giving her wand a flick.

It took her two tries because of how badly her wand hand shook, but she was able to do what he had been unable to do – to distinguish what was real from what was not.

He felt a stab of self-righteous anger at the fact that she had been able to collect herself so quickly when he had floundered. He knew she was a logical girl, more likely to give precedence to her mind instead of her heart, but it still upset him all the same.

He was better than her, after all, and he could not believe he had slipped and allowed himself to be vulnerable for that brief moment.

Her incantation was successful, and the boggart changed forms again, this time changing into Professor Flitwick, who told her that she had overslept and missed her exams and would have to repeat sixth year again. She gave an indignant huff, as though the insinuation of academic failure were somehow offensive to her, and performed the incantation successfully again.

The persistent creature changed shapes one more time, this time into one of Regulus' fears that he had seen many times before: the empty manor he would inherit after his parent's death.

He saw himself, the very last Black of his line, sitting in an ornate chair by the fireplace in his large ancestral home that was all but empty except for his loyal house elf.

Alone.

One of his greatest fears was ending up alone, though this fear was one that was not quite as embarrassing for Efa to see. He reacted with ease this time, giving the final blow.

"_Riddikulus."_

The boggart's version of Regulus promptly changed forms, turning into a fat pigeon that pecked dumbly at the ground. It was Efa's small giggle at the bird that did it, and the boggart finally vanished, dissipating into thin air.

They stood quietly for a moment, unable to summon words in the aftermath of the experience.

It was an unacknowledged fact that hung in the air between them that made their dynamic immediately tense and uncomfortable. They had just shared their deepest, darkest fears with one another, even if unintentionally.

She knew his fears, and he knew hers. It was an intimate sort of knowledge, one that allowed each of them to understand each other on a deeper level.

Efa would now know that his greatest fear was not living up to his family's and society's expectations of him, and eventually ending up alone as he was the last of his line. And as for the curly-haired witch, her fears had offered him a bit of an insight into her personality that he had not realised before.

It was obvious she was competitive academically, but he had not known that one of her biggest fears was failure. He supposed it made perfect sense, though.

Her father, however…that was interesting. It meant that she loved and was loved deeply in return. It meant that her heart was soft, that her greatest weakness lay not in her vain need to be the best in all things school related – but in the well-being of her loved ones.

Her heart, a heart that loved freely and strongly, would be her Achilles heel.

It was such a pure sentiment, like something out of a novel with knights and princesses. It was cliché, and Regulus nearly scoffed, suddenly feeling annoyed with the girl and her mundane fears.

_Worthless_, he repeated in his mind. She was a fool for allowing herself to be enveloped in a sentiment so utterly _worthless_.

Though somewhere, a whisper in the back of his head told him that it only annoyed him because her greatest fear was what he had always wanted most but never received, and that thought startled him almost as much as seeing the boggart take the form of his mother had.

His home had never been a loving one. Sirius had loved him at one point, and Regulus had loved his brother, but now that was long gone, irrelevant in a war. He and his friends held no real love for each other, that thought was preposterous and laughable. Evan Rosier was the closest thing he had to a friend, and an agreeable person to spend time with, but to say that either of them prioritised their acquaintanceship over their duties would be a lie.

The most love he had received steadily over the years was from that of Kreacher, who adored Regulus, but that was it.

It had been Kreacher who nursed him and Sirius to health when they fell ill as children. Kreacher, who lovingly cooked whatever they asked of him. Kreacher, who bandaged his wounds and did everything he could to make sure Regulus was well taken care of.

How strange it was to admit that a simple and lowly house elf had been more of a parent to him than his own parents had.

He wrenched himself from his thoughts then, berating himself for briefly entertaining the notion that he could have ever possibly been jealous of what somebody so far below him had.

He was not jealous of Efa's ability to love, that she was loved in return, or that she had a loving father and friends who genuinely cared for her well-being. This he felt certain of, for how could that be?

Ludicrous. That's what it was. A passing thought of no real value. He had everything he could possibly want, he reminded himself sharply.

_Do you, though?_

"That was your mother, wasn't it?"

Her question was voiced softly, gentle like the misty rains that came as winter gave way to spring.

Regulus wanted to yell at her, to tell her to mind her own business. He wanted to hex her for daring to ask such a question, or perhaps even obliviate the memory of his humiliation from her overly caring mind.

Yet he found he simply did not have the strength.

His emotions were running high, so many horrible memories swimming and circling like sharks in the ocean that threatened to drown him. The day had been long, the stress monumental, and he was tired of forcing it all back down.

She had seen his fears, and he had seen hers, there was no use lying. What had happened could not be undone.

"Yes." He responded simply, unwilling to say anything more on the subject after affirming her suspicion.

She paused a moment, and he could feel her soft gaze assessing him gently. He didn't want her to look at him like that - to look at him like he was uncollected or emotionally compromised or deserving of her pity.

He was _not_ uncollected. By Merlin he was not. Could she not see it?

"I don't know what it's worth, and I can't claim to know anything about your life," She started slowly, paying no heed to formalities or the boundaries between them. Gone was the apprehension, she spoke from her heart. "But boggarts spew nonsense. Don't let it get to you."

"That was your father on the ground, was it?" He asked instead, choosing not to acknowledge her words of advice. The pangs of humiliation ran deep, and he did not need or want her kind words and sentiments. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Thankfully, she did not press further.

"Yes, that was him. It's usually him when I see a boggart." She explained the reasoning behind why they had seen his corpse. "He's who I love most. The thought of losing him terrifies me."

Dear Efa. Dear, sweet, _innocent_ Efa. This war was going to ruin that lovely innocence of hers by the time it ran its course. The Dark Lord would take that naïveté and crush it into a thousand pieces if she was brought into his service.

She would be just as dark and tainted as the rest of them soon enough.

A darker side of him found a sick sort of contentment in that. The more rational side of his mind felt horrified he had briefly entertained such a terrible thought.

"Tell me of him, your father." He demanded after that last particularly dark thought, hoping to keep the desperation and confusion from his tone. "You mentioned he was a professor at a muggle university? What does he teach?"

She eyed him a moment, a look that he didn't like. It was too soft, slightly concerned. It seemed she could tell he was inwardly rattled, having trouble recomposing himself – and he hated it.

Again, she did not press the issue, instead chattering on about her father as he requested.

"He teaches history." She explained, patiently complying with his request as she followed him out of that cursed bathroom. "That picture you found of us, it was taken in Sweden, we were on an archaeological dig. That's what muggles call it when-"

She continued on and on, telling him about the strange work her father did and of many sweet or funny stories of her childhood. She spoke of the oddities of the muggle world, of their educational institutions, of the strange holidays she and her father celebrated, and many other things – all very general and nothing that gave away any deeper or more important information, but strangely captivating nonetheless.

The more she spoke, the more Regulus found himself relaxing, centring himself as he listened to her talk. His frantic mind slowed, and he was able to take control of his thought process once again.

Her voice was soft and light, soothing and sweet, and even though he normally loathed hearing about the muggle world and the strange stories that half-bloods often told of it, he found himself perfectly content to listen to her every word.

Regulus went to bed that night feeling unsettled and conflicted about his evening.

He did not sleep.

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**Reviews!**

**Love Fiction 2019 - **Thank you!

**Random Reader - **Oh, it definitely won't end well, but by the time it happens, I'm planning on having both of them too emotionally invested with each other to back out. I don't think he'll realise he has any sort of romantic feelings for quite a while - what with all divides between them and all. And yes, Efa and Remus are cute, but are they meant for each other? I guess we'll just have to see!

**Lyanna - **Remus definitely has a bit of a 'self-hate' problem, and I think that's why it would be unrealistic to pair them. I plan on writing Remus as realising just how dangerous he is once he goes undercover with Greyback on Dumbledore's orders after graduating. It was always my headcanon that he never realised just how dangerous he was until he saw the amount of damage that Greyback was doing while spying on them. As for Efa knowing about him, she already does. I wrote that in chapter 4, but it wasn't a big section so it was probably easy to miss. I also LOVE Ritika Singh too! I really liked her in Guru.

**Guest 1 - **That's an interesting fancast! I'll admit it's definitely not what I had in mind, but I think that Amma's style would really suit Efa, I liked it a lot!

**Guest 2 - **That was such a kind and sweet review, thank you so much! I'm happy that you're enjoying it, and thank you for taking the time to review :)

**Guest 3 - **Thanks! Glad that there seems to be depth, it can be hard to get right. Thank you for the review!


	11. Chapter 11

**_A/N -_ A new chapter, in which Efa actually starts to grow a spine, haha. Just a quick announcement: I'm working on another fic for The Mandalorian right now, so I'm placing this story and that one on rotating, bi-weekly schedules so I can alternate without overwhelming myself. So, your updates will now be every two weeks, and you can expect them on the weekends instead of weekdays from now on. That's all. Enjoy!**

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_November, 1977_

_._

"_-found dead in their homes on Tuesday evening after aurors were alerted to multiple sightings of the Dark Mark. The only surviving victim claims to remember nothing, leading the Ministry's Auror Department to believe it to be another case of the use of the Imperius Curse, which amounts to six cases this month alone. The identities of the victims have yet to be released to the public."_

The crackling radio waves of the wizarding radio inside the Ravenclaw common room sparked to life as a fifth-year boy turned the knob on the old device, the dreadful words spewing out into the air like a sickness that could not be quarantined.

Efa glanced up from her Herbology textbook from her position at one of the desks where she and her two friends had been studying, her attention focusing in on the horrible news that came from the preferred news network of the English wizarding community.

Otto and Gwyn also paused what they were working on, all attention in the crowded common room suddenly focused on the small device relaying the news.

"_The use of the Imperius curse has caused widespread alarm and panic throughout the Ministry and wizarding communities, as Dark wizards continue to utilise the unforgiveable curse to accomplish their attacks, making it almost impossible to know the identities of the perpetrators. Our reporters at WNN tried to reach out to the head Auror in charge of these cases, Alastor Moody, but no comment was given. Faith in the Ministry's capability of protecting its citizens and holding its defence against He Who Must Not Be Named and His supporters is now at an all-time low as many begin to question if-"_

"Turn it off." Efa spoke sternly over the radio waves, drawing attention to her stationary figure.

Protests rang out immediately.

"Hathaway, this is important!" David Kim argued.

"Just a minute longer, please!" Cried Persephone Callaway.

"They haven't even said where it happened yet, what if it's one of our hometowns?" Mentioned Aditya Chaudhry worriedly.

Efa frowned as she glanced towards a group of first years at a table adjacent to them, who had gone wide-eyed in fear after listening to the broadcast. The female prefect also wanted to know more information, but it was part of her duties to keep order within her house, and the radio was only causing the beginnings of a panic.

Plus, there were rules about when the radio could be used. Professor Flitwick, their head of house, had designated that it could only be used at a low volume after hours, between returning from dinner and lights out. The rule was made in hopes that the magical device would not interfere with those who sought to study during the day.

And if Ravenclaws valued anything as much as knowledge, it was rules.

"Turn it off, Aditya." She stated again, though not without sympathy. She could only imagine what it was like to wonder who the victims were. The wizarding community was not so large after all. "You know the rules. We only use the radio after hours."

Marnie Hannigan murmured something about her being a tyrant, but Aditya reluctantly complied after Efa gave a pointed look to the horrified first years to clue him in on why it was best to go without it.

The radio might have been turned off then, but worried muttering could be heard throughout the common room, as groups of students whispered to one another about what they'd heard.

"How in the world are the aurors supposed to find out who cast the Imperius Curse?" murmured Gwyn unhappily. "They're fighting dirty, the bloody cowards."

"You have to admit it's clever." Otto replied with reluctance. "It's causing distrust of the Ministry and widespread panic, and it makes it nearly impossible to trace. What's the phrase the English say, 'two chickens, one rock'?"

"It's 'two birds, one stone'." Corrected Efa quietly, staring blankly at the words of her textbook. "It's terrifying to think about. Can you imagine coming to, only to find out you'd been forced to kill entire families?"

Gwyn shuddered, and Otto shook his head.

"No wonder his supporters keep growing." Remarked Gwyn darkly. "It's kill or be killed, and anyone who goes against _Him_ is at a disadvantage since nobody knows who the supporters are and how they'll attack."

"Like the Viet Cong." Efa muttered absentmindedly, as memories of muggle news from only a few years prior filled her mind.

"The what?" Questioned Gwyn in confusion, and Efa backtracked, reminding herself that they likely had no idea about muggle wars and international conflicts.

"There was a war that only recently ended in Vietnam, and one of the groups fighting was called the Viet Cong." Efa explained quietly. "One of the reasons they were so successful was because they disguised themselves as civilians. They were able to hide in plain sight. The enemy could be anyone, anywhere, anytime, and the other side wouldn't know."

"That part about the enemies hiding in plain sight does sound similar." Gwyn stated in fascination. "But did they win? Did that tactic work?"

"Yeah." Sighed Efa, noting how Gwyn and Otto's faces fell at her words. "Their side won."

A stark silence fell over the table, and Efa began to wish that she had not mentioned it at all.

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"So, we know thus far that the effects of casting _Sanguinem Vinculum _are permanent, completely irreversible." Regulus stated, more to himself than to Efa. "But to transfer that type of blood magic to a potion would mean that we would have to find a way to make the effects temporary, able to wear off after a certain amount of time. We also know that using our blood in this potion will likely make it extremely unstable."

"We'll need a flexible and strong stabilising agent." Efa voiced, still perusing through one very thick appendix of magical substances and all their properties.

"Did you have a suggestion?"

"Caerphilly's documentation of old world potions suggested that ancient witches used to use Neem root since it was so widely available."

Regulus blinked, looking up from this parchment of notes.

"I hadn't thought of Neem root, that could be an option." His features scrunched in thought then as he voiced another idea aloud. "Wouldn't the Neem react with the unicorn hair?"

"It might…" Efa trailed off, flipping through her thick appendix until she found the section she was looking for. "Here, I just found it. It says that three leaves of an enchanted clover will diffuse any reaction."

Regulus nodded, adding that bit of information to his already extensive notes.

The two were sitting in the restricted section once more, lounging quietly on the cold stone flooring and perusing through different texts as they began contemplating what the base of their potion ought to consist of.

Constructing the base was the tricky part. There were many different ingredients they would need to use for their complicated potion, each ingredient having its own unique properties that might not react well with other ingredients.

Potions ingredients with magical properties were especially tricky – it wasn't like baking, where adding too much of something might make a cake fall flat, but more like high stakes Russian Roulette, where too much or too little of an ingredient, or three stirs instead of two could result in something as drastic as an explosion or a melted cauldron. A tiny slip of measurement and one might make a lethal poison instead of a healing draught.

Adding ancient blood magic to the mix only made it all the more volatile.

Needless to say, they would be conducting their first few test-brews on rats that Slughorn kept for such purposes. She supposed it was not the most humane thing in the world, but it was necessary.

"And you said Alchemy offers certain conversion rates that allow for a quicker expiration of magical bonds?" Regulus queried suddenly. "Because if you are wrong, then the entire potion will fail. I, for one, am not interested in failure."

Efa raised a brow at his choice of words, but did not let her annoyance show.

He'd been asking her quite a few questions about alchemy lately. He'd also been a bit more bossy and colder than usual.

Extremely cold, in fact.

Efa bit her lip to keep a retort locked inside her mouth, as she had been doing all week. The young witch was surprised that she had yet to draw blood from how often she needed to bite her tongue keep herself in check thus far.

"Yes, I believe it should work. I'll need to test it on a different potion first to make sure, though."

"Do it this weekend." He ordered stiffly, to which narrowed her eyes a fraction.

"Sir, yes sir." She muttered dryly.

"And I'll thank you to keep your cheek to yourself." He scowled at her, and she frowned at him in return, though said nothing, choosing to pick her battles wisely.

Time passed slowly as they continued to bounce ideas off each other, taking notes and flipping through pages and unrolling scrolls much older than they were.

Regulus fidgeted then, glancing up at Efa.

It was not the first time he had done that so far that evening, and it was certainly not the first time that Efa had taken notice of the odd behaviour. He had been acting demanding and less than pleasant in the last week since they'd had a run in with a boggart, more so than usual.

Today in the library was no different, aside from the fact that she could feel his eyes on her. In the moments when there was silence between them, he would send her strange little glances when he thought she was not looking.

She looked up, openly meeting his gaze this time and feeling another twinge of mild annoyance.

"Is something the matter?" she finally asked, noting that he looked vaguely uncomfortable. "You've been acting odd all week."

He stared at her a long moment, seeming to debate with himself before he finally spoke.

"Last week, with the boggart-" He started, voice low. "What you saw is something that I will not tolerate to hear repeated to others. There will be repercussions if you choose to do so."

Efa leaned back in surprise, her features pinching in offense.

"Are you threatening me?" She asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her tone.

Efa knew that he was still likely upset she had seen something so personal, that he valued his privacy and probably felt that their experience together had encroached upon that.

In her mind, however, that did not grant him any right to make threats – pure-blooded heir or not.

"Take it as you will. I don't care." He replied coldly, gaze seeming to challenge her, expecting her to back down into compliance as she normally did. "Just keep your mouth shut."

Except this time, Efa would rise to that challenge.

Perhaps it was because she had slowly grown to feel more comfortable around Regulus, that she felt like she understood him a little better after they had seen each other's biggest fears.

Perhaps it was because Rabastan Lestrange's threats and insinuations were still fresh in her mind.

Perhaps it was because she was just tired of it all. Either way, she did not back down.

"I'm not sure how things work in your society." She began firmly. "But where I come from, friends and acquaintances don't threaten each other to get what they want. I won't tolerate it."

He did a double take, surprise clear on his features that she had dared to talk back, for she had never done so before. She always listened, always did as he directed or suggested.

It did not take long for his shock to morph into a sneer, one that looked very similar to the one she had seen on the boggart's face when it had been impersonating his mother.

"If you think, Miss Hathaway," He began, low tone veering into dangerous territory. "That I would ever count _half-blooded filth_ amongst my friends, then you are sorely mistaken."

Efa felt as though she had been slapped.

His words were vicious, dripping in condescension and vitriol. His attitude was so different from what she normally saw of him when they were together. But one thing was then clear to her – whatever inklings of a friendship and understanding that she might have thought to be forming between them must have been wrong.

_Filth_. He had called her filth.

She felt hot humiliation welling up in her chest, and she could sense the blood rushing to her cheeks as she fought hard not to shed tears. Efa was not sure why she was so upset. In retrospect, she felt quite silly for not having expected this of him, for daring to consider that he might be any different from the others.

Whatever moment of understanding and bonding she thought she had shared with him was apparently something of her imagination.

Efa sat forward quickly, beginning to stuff her things into her book bag, the items disorderly arranged within the satchel as she stood abruptly.

"Sit back down, Efa. Stop being dramatic." He demanded in irritation. "We still have work to do before patrols."

_Another demand?_

It was unwise of her, certainly, but it felt very good to say what she said next aloud and to his face.

"Do it yourself, Black." She spat, swallowing back a lump in her throat.

"Excuse me?" He sputtered, and she whirled on him, holding his gaze angrily.

"I said," She repeated slowly. "Do. It. _Yourself_."

He stood then as well, visibly appalled at her declaration.

"Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?" He demanded in an angry hiss, but she only scoffed, as if she could not believe what she was hearing.

"I've got an idea, but the names I'm thinking of are a bit more colourful than 'Regulus Black'_." _Shot back the witch as she and sent him a look of contempt, ignoring the instinct that told her she knew better than to voice such inflammatory statements aloud.

To say that the young Black heir looked incensed at her words would have been an understatement.

"If you sit back down now and return to our work," He stated then, looking as though he was having trouble composing himself as he hid behind that pompous and regal attitude of his. "Then I'll kindly look past your slip of mind. We will continue as we were, and you will do well to remember your place."

She sighed then, taking a deep breath to calm herself. When she continued, she spoke with less anger, though her voice was firm and steady.

"I'm leaving. If you decide you would like to treat me as an equal, I'm happy to continue this project together. If not, you're more than welcome to find another partner."

She did not wait for his response, leaving a flustered pureblood behind her.

Efa stopped by the gate to the restricted section, looking back quietly to meet his gaze.

"For what it's worth," She started, feeling the need to let this fact be known. "I would never tell anyone. That would be cruel."

She left it at that, not sticking around to wait for any more of his retorts. She was done. She wanted nothing more to do with him until she'd had time to cool down and centre her thoughts.

Efa wondered if she would regret what she had said later when she had to meet him again for patrols, but as she bustled down the corridor in a state of awe over what had just taken place, she could not help but feel that it didn't matter. It was rare she said anything of the sort, but she was glad she had stood her ground. She might have been a fairly unassuming witch that blended easily into the background and struggled with many different levels of anxiety – but at the very least, she knew her worth.

Her father had raised her to know her worth. If Regulus Black could not acknowledge that, then she felt she no longer owed him any of her time outside of their prefect duties and Potions class.

If he was going to treat her like some sort of house elf, call her names, and look down his nose at her then she felt no reason to give so much of her already scarce free time to something so time consuming as this extracurricular competition. He could continue on his own and without her help.

Somewhere deep within her mind she realised that what she had asked was probably more than what he was willing to give. She was a fool if she thought that somebody of his station would ever view her as an equal. She had all but asked him to go against what he apparently viewed to be the magical laws of the universe and the ingrained hierarchy of his society, to admit that it was all a load of nonsense.

It might have been easier to ask him to take the moon out of orbit, in retrospect.

Still, she couldn't help but hope. It was egotistical, perhaps, but she _craved_ that acknowledgement more than anything. Just once in her life, she wanted to be judged by her abilities instead of by the apparent caste system of wizarding society.

Most of the corridors were empty as she stalked down them. Efa wasn't quite sure where she was going, but she knew she needed to walk for a moment, to clear her head.

She just needed some peace and quiet. Yes, peace and quiet sounded like a dream.

Peace and quiet was not what she got.

"Oi, bookworm!"

"I told you not to call her that, Prongs."

"Ickle Moony's gone all swoony!"

"Shut _up_, Padfoot."

_Of course_, Efa thought bitterly to herself. It had to be the Marauders. They had a penchant of the sort for appearing when she least wanted to see them.

Remus, she was very happy to see, but she was not in a state where she felt she would be able to handle his friends, especially if they were keen to tease, which they always were.

Remus paused when he saw her expression though, noting immediately that something was wrong. He had always been able to read her well.

The group stopped in front of her, minus Peter Pettigrew for some reason.

"You alright?" Asked Remus, and at that question James and Sirius looked over her form with renewed interest.

"Just…" she trailed off, shoving all her conflicted emotions away. Or attempting to, at least. "Tired. Where's Peter?"

The truth was that Efa Hathaway felt hurt, first and foremost, and was still attempting to subdue the lingering anger after her altercation with Regulus.

"He's in detention. Have you eaten?" He asked, eyeing her book satchel knowingly, aware of her habit of losing track of time in the library.

"Er, no, actually. I was working on that Potions project."

At this, Sirius grinned comically wide, grey eyes seeming to gleam. How very different the expression of his grey eyes were to that of Regulus.

"How's little Reggie-kins? Still a soulless little prat?"

Efa frowned miserably, which Remus was quick to note.

"He's a prat alright." Efa murmured unhappily, which Sirius laughed at, and Remus seemed quite pleased to hear her say it.

"Why don't you come with us down to the kitchens?" Suggested James with a sly look towards Remus. "Moony says we have to be nicer to you now that-"

Remus elbowed James hard in the ribs, sending the tall and bespectacled young man teetering off his balance.

"To the kitchens, yeah?" Remus said with a tight smile on his lips.

Efa considered it a moment, looking between Remus and his two friends. Perhaps she could muster the strength to handle their rambunctious behaviour and teasing just this one time.

It might take her mind off things before she had to go back to patrol with one very angry pureblood that she was now fully aware she had likely offended. She was not looking forward to her patrols at all, and it might be nice to relax a bit before returning to the presence of Regulus Black.

A bit of company could be nice to help take her mind off things, even if it was Sirius Black and James Potter.

"Sure." She acquiesced, taking the elbow that Remus offered her and ignoring the dog whistles that Sirius made as a result.

"Good, I'm glad we've got you." Stated James with a laugh. "Because Sirius and I've got about a million questions about Muggle Studies. We skived off the last few classes, you see…"

"It probably doesn't help that you haven't bothered to open your textbooks since you got them." Remarked Remus offhandedly.

Efa couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her mouth at that as they continued forward.

"So," Began James, as the four of them started down the staircase that led towards the kitchens. "What's a refrigerator?"

.

* * *

.

Thick parchment crumpled in his grasp, the words of his father's letter written in the family's preferred and expensive silver ink becoming unrecognizable as he crushed the letter in his hand.

The Kaiser family wax seal was visible on the outside of the parchment, the two golden eagles of his family's crest carrying a banner that read _'Wissen ist Macht'_ – Or in English, 'Knowledge is Power'. The Knowledgeable and Diligent House of Kaiser.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward in a half-hearted smile that did not reach his eyes.

It was late, extremely late, and Otto Kaiser felt the effects of stress combined with a long day beginning to weighed him down as he stared blankly into dying embers of the fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room.

Slowly, he leaned forward from his seated position to drop the letter into the embers as his father had instructed him to do at the end of the correspondence. The paper began to shrivel inwards immediately, the red wax of the seal melting and sizzling as it dripped into the remains of the fire.

Otto's expression was devoid of any emotion now, and he felt strangely cold as he watched the letter burn.

He ought to have expected the contents of the letter, there was really no room for surprise on his part. It was not as if he was unaware of his father's expectations of him. It had been lurking in the distance for ages, a dark cloud that seemed to grow closer.

He'd been evading it for months, running from his fate for as long as he could. But now, it had caught up to him, it was nipping at his heels as he continued his desperate attempt to flee from the path his parents had chosen for him.

His father had decided that his son would take the Dark Mark as soon as he arrived home for summer holiday.

Otto felt his stomach turn violently, bile rising in his throat that he tried desperately to force back down.

Unless he could convince his parents to delay it again, he would be joining the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers sooner than had been planned. They had already reluctantly agreed to delay until he graduated, that had been their deal when he left, but it seemed they had changed their minds.

He could only wonder as to why it had been pushed up.

The German pureblood had his own theories, of course. His parents were one of the most influential pure-blooded families in all of Europe, his father in line to become the next German Minister of Magic. His family was ancient, powerful, had more gold than they knew what to do with, and obsessed in keeping their reputation at the top.

If his parents had found out that other ancient pure-blooded families had sons who were his age and had already taken the mark, it was likely his parents would not want to be left out of that. They would not want to be outdone, to be shown up by the English.

If people as young as his schoolmates had taken the mark already, and Otto suspected of a fair few who already had, then his parents would expect the same of him.

His family was personally funding much of the Dark Lord's expenditures, and the promise had been made that Otto would also be sworn to him in service after he graduated from Hogwarts. His father had taken the Dark Mark two years prior, the detestable black skull sticking out strongly against the pale skin.

_Wissen ist Macht._

Knowledge is Freedom.

Otto scoffed softly to himself.

There was no such thing as freedom for people like him, and it certainly did not come in the form of knowledge. The only thing that knowledge had done for him was to show him that his life as a pure-blooded heir would never give him any semblance of freedom.

Knowledge had exposed to him the dark cracks in the hierarchy of wizarding society, of the flaws in his family's ideologies, of the detestable racism against lesser magical beings in their world, and of the extreme violences and prejudices that existed for people who his parents considered to be lower than them.

People like Gwyn. People like Efa.

It hadn't taken long at all for Otto's world to come crashing down after he'd met them in their first year. The two girls had already been friends, having met on the Hogwarts express. And Otto, with a mind filled to the brim with his parent's prejudices, had been wary of them at first.

However, in little to no time at all, those two girls had shown him another side of the story.

Gwyn was not 'cavorting with filth', 'scheming against their society' or 'pig-like', as his mother had often referred to blood traitors as. The most scheming he had ever seen Gwyn do was for her quidditch strategies. Gwyn had a large heart, where there was room for anyone, regardless of their background.

Efa was not 'dirty', 'dangerous', or 'filthy'. Efa was a neat freak, and he even remembered a time in second year when she had cried for thirty minutes after accidentally stepping on a caterpillar and killing it. The girl was naïve and kind, and had opened his eyes to the true realities of the muggle world.

Only when he and Gwyn had visited Efa's home for Christmas in their third year, had the last of his prejudices had finally slipped away from him, and he truly began to realise the extent of his parent's manipulation.

Otto supposed he had always known it would come to this, he knew he would eventually reach a point where he would have to choose which side he was going to stand with.

But he'd known what his answer was for some time now. He'd known for years.

_Wissen ist Macht._

Knowledge was power, and he had the power now of choosing to take his fate into his own hands – to fight for what he believed in, or to simply go along with what was expected of him, to take the easier route.

And an easier route it would certainly be. A fortune worth more than most of Europe, gold, power, influence – it would all be his if he just said yes. He would lose everything if he said no - his home, his family, his status, he would lose all of it, all down to the last sickle.

But family fortunes and status be damned. None of it was worth keeping if it tainted his soul in the process. His parents could keep the family fortune, they could give it to the Dark Lord if they loved him so much.

He would not take the Dark Mark. He would stand firm in his morals and beliefs.

Knowledge was power, and he believed that any witch or wizard of any background ought to have equal opportunity to learn. He believed that witches and wizards ought to be judged by their talent and character, not their surnames. He believed in equal opportunity.

He wanted a world where Gwyn and Efa could live safely, a world where they, and others like them, could have the chance to be whatever they wanted and love whomever they pleased.

That was something he was willing to fight for. It might even be something he was willing to die for.

"Otto?" He sat up straighter at hearing his name then, looking towards the auburn-haired witch in tacky flannel pajamas who had called to him. "What are you still doing up?"

His heart warmed at the sight of Gwyneth Roberts.

"Couldn't sleep." He answered blandly, to which she nodded at.

"Me neither." She stated with a sigh as she traversed the space between them and plopped herself down on the couch at his side. Her eyes travelled to the fire, and then to his blank face, perceptive gaze working it out immediately.

A moment passed before she voiced the question.

"Letter from home?" She guessed, and he gave a weary smile.

Not much got past Gwyneth Roberts. He rarely gave her credit for it, but she was more perceptive than she looked.

"_Ja." _He affirmed, the smile slipping from his lips. "Filled with all the warm regards they usually are."

She snorted in a very unladylike fashion at his sarcasm, before shifting a bit closer to him and placing her head on his shoulder.

He relaxed at the feeling and the warmth from her body, letting his tense shoulders fall as he slumped against the cushions of the couch. Gwyn curled up against him, asking no questions but offering the support her presence gave instead.

Otto wondered if she knew how much she meant to him. Her and Efa both, but especially Gwyn. She resided in a very special portion of his heart.

"It'll be alright." She whispered.

Otto closed his eyes and bent his neck, letting his head rest on top of hers.

Hopefully, her words would become his truth, but he doubted it.

.

* * *

.

**Reviews!**

**Wikked - **Thank you! Things are going to start speeding up from here!

**Random Reader - **Thanks you! And yes, they'll all need all the luck they can get. Trying times, trying times indeed.

**Lyanna - **I don't believe there's any sort of vow of faithfulness with pure-blooded marriages, but I could be wrong. I've read that in other fanfics, but I don't believe it's canon. Otherwise, the Cursed Child never would have taken place, right? Who knows though...It is kind of funny how something so normal seems innocent to Regulus. I guess that's what growing up in that type of society does to people though.

**Guest - **I did love FMA! As for the concept of alchemy I've created here, I've drawn upon various fictional and nonfictional resources for the alchemy they practice. So some of it might look familiar, and some of it will be actual science or reference actual alchemists of the past, who I've decided were wizards for the purpose of my writing. I'm really glad you're enjoying Regulus' character!

**Love Fiction 2019 - **That's good, because that's where I'm trying to take things! It'll take a while though, haha. Definitely planning for confused feelings and slow-burns.

**Banana Octupus - **Great username, lol! I'm glad you like her! I won't be giving any spoilers though, you'll have to wait and see!

**Zilpha Bilha - **Thank you so much! Funnily enough, re-reading the books is what made me want to write this. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far though, and thank you for leaving a kind review :)

**Shayna Kasdan - **Thank you for the review, and welcome!


	12. Chapter 12

_November, 1977_

_._

"What do you mean, you don't speak Welsh?" Exclaimed Efa with eyes wide as an owl. "What kind of Welshman doesn't speak _Cymraeg?_"

"I know a few words." Corrected Remus wish a sheepish grin. "But I was too embarrassed to tell you I couldn't understand you when we first met…but I guess I let things get a little carried away?"

Efa laughed softly at that, shaking her head as they continued down one of the school's corridors. There was a break between classes, and they were heading towards the library to work on their own respective assignments.

The day was a cloudy one, and a thick mist hung drearily over the school grounds, obscuring the scenic view of mountains and valleys in the distance. If one were to look out over the great lake, it might look more like the sea, for it was hard to see where the water stopped and the sky began, and the mist hung thickly over the surface, swirling lazily.

Remus walked side by side with Efa, who was currently attempting to wind her curls into a long plait. The humidity brought in with the heavy mist made her hair even curlier, and she looked quite put out with the long locks. After her enchanted ribbon had secured itself in a neat little bow at the end of her plait, she slung it over her shoulder, still laughing at his admission from earlier.

It was nice, to hear her laugh. The last few days he had noticed she was looking perturbed, or perhaps a bit blue. It was often he stole glances at her during meals, peeking over Peter's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the Ravenclaw girl, who was normally either deeply engrossed in a book while she ate or conversing quietly with her housemates.

This last week, however, she had been brooding. No…moping? He wasn't sure if either of those words were a good description, but he knew she certainly hadn't looked too happy. It was clear that whatever had happened to bring her to such a state was weighing heavily on her mind.

So, he was happy to see she was looking a bit like her old self again as they walked and chatted.

Her laughter died in her throat at once as she considered something, and she turned her head to the young man at her side, who met her gaze expectantly.

"Remus…" She began, voice wavering in incredulity. "Does that mean that all the times I thought we were having a conversation in Welsh…?"

His chest heaved and his shoulders shook as he tried to keep from laughing.

"That I was just letting you talk without understanding a word you were saying?" He asked innocently. "Yeah, that's exactly what happened."

"But-!" Efa sputtered, cheeks now tinged pink in mild embarrassment. "But I remember you responding!"

"I was only throwing out the few conversational words I know, like 'yes', 'no', 'that's nice', and 'really?'." He admitted, now openly laughing. "I had no idea what was going on."

"You dog!" She cried, looking a mix between mortified and amused. "I can't believe you've been letting me sit there and babble to myself for years!"

They both laughed then, Remus laughing so hard that he had to bring up a hand to wipe at his eyes. He remembered that day like it were yesterday, the day he met Efa on the Hogwarts Express.

He had been starting his second year and Efa her first, and she had approached him timidly when she heard his accent, a dead giveaway of his Northern Welsh heritage. She'd been so excited to have a friend in a fellow countryman, and he hadn't the heart to admit he didn't speak a lick of Welsh when she'd begun spouting off in the language after growing comfortable with him.

Apparently, there were some of what the muggles called 'primary schools' that had started language reclamation efforts to ensure the language did not die out. Efa had attended such a primary school in her youth, and had been instructed in both English and Welsh at school and at home, which resulted in her bilingual status.

"Hathaway." A voice rang out suddenly, from further down the corner, and Remus noticed that Efa stiffened at the sound of it.

The chilled drawl was unmistakeable, and Remus frowned as he recognised the voice at once.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder, noting that Regulus Black was attempting to make his way towards them, increasing his pace in order to catch up to where they were.

The younger Black sibling looked quite sombre, face stony and cool. Then again, Remus wasn't sure he had ever seen the Slytherin boy look anything other than morbid and frigid. He couldn't understand where Efa was getting any ideas like the ones she had shared with him during their date, that Regulus Black was any different than the other pure-blooded heirs. Remus certainly didn't see it – the young man looked just as pompous and icy as the rest of them.

Efa's eyes narrowed, and Remus saw the tell-tale spark of irritation that flashed in her dark gaze.

The pieces clicked then, of why she had been so out of sorts over the last few days. He would bet his last sickle that it had to do with Regulus Black being the source of the problem, especially given how much time he and Efa had been spending together recently.

Not that he was _jealous_ of somebody like Black. That would be simply preposterous.

"What do you reckon he wants?" Remus asked in quiet discontent, leaning his head a bit closer to Efa's.

"I'm not sure I care to find out." She murmured unhappily. "We had a bit of a row the other night. I wish there was a way to avoid him, just for a bit."

Try as he might, he could not manage to convince himself that a falling out between Efa and Regulus did not grant him a sense of relief. He could not deny that their excess time spent together had not worried him. He had an unshakable feeling that Regulus did not have the purest of intentions, but Remus was suspicious of just about anybody from Slytherin. Their age-old house rivalry had certainly left its mark on him.

The Gryffindor prefect was curious about what they might have fought about, but he found it was not the most appropriate time to ask.

She looked miserable at the idea of facing him now, but perhaps he could help with that.

Remus glanced up, taking note of where they were and recalling to mind the mental image of the layout of the castle in the enchanted map he shared with his fellow Marauders.

With a small grin forming on his face when he remembered the secret passageway he was thinking of, he whispered to her.

"Do you trust me, Effie?"

"Of course." She replied immediately. "Why-?"

"Then do exactly as I say the moment we round the corner, okay?"

Efa gave him a curious look, but nodded anyways, lacing her fingers into his when he offered her his hand to take. He relished the feeling of it.

A small part of him, albeit a very petty part of him, hoped that Regulus could see their hands intertwined. For some reason, that thought gave him a sense of gratification like no other.

He felt something akin to a dog in that moment, lifting its leg on a letter box to mark its territory. Though he felt somewhat guilty at the idea of subconsciously thinking of Efa as some sort of object he could mark as his, the urge nonetheless remained.

"Hathaway, I need to speak with you." Regulus called again, his voice sounding both thoroughly annoyed at being ignored and a little closer than the last time they had heard him. It seemed he was very intent to talk with her.

But Remus had other plans.

"Three…"

Remus began to speed their pace, Efa's shorter legs stepping double time to keep up with his.

"Two…"

The corner of the corridor was close, and Remus repositioned his book satchel on his shoulder so it would not fall. Efa glanced at him again, squeezing his hand tighter as they prepared to turn the corner.

"One." They turned abruptly down another corridor, disappearing from Regulus' view completely. "_Run!" _He hissed.

He pulled her along, the both of them breaking into a fast sprint as Efa used her free hand to clutch at her satchel as it threatened to slip from her shoulder.

He laughed merrily, and Efa let a small giggle slip through her lips as their feet thudded against the stone.

Remus was happy to note that the corridor was empty, as he had hoped it might be, otherwise his plan would not have worked.

They had to hurry, though. If Regulus rounded the corner before they managed to slip behind one of Hogwarts' few secret passageways, then it would be exposed. In retrospect, it was not the smartest idea. But Remus was young, feeling slightly reckless, and only thinking about impressing the pretty girl at his side.

They skidded to a halt in front of the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, a particularly hefty wizard from an era long gone. Remus reached forward, quickly rubbing the statue's stomach three times clockwise, and then three times counter clockwise.

"Remus, what in the world are you doing?" Efa laughed nervously, glancing rapidly between Remus and the corner that Regulus would soon appear at if he did not hurry.

Efa had her question answered for her when the statue began to swivel on an axis, revealing a secret staircase directly underneath its base.

Remus bounded quickly down the stairs, before turning to look up at Efa expectantly, who was eyeing the staircase descending into inky darkness in complete and utter shock.

"Efa, come on!" He whispered hurriedly, and the curly-haired witch snapped out of her stupor, apprehensively following him down into the darkness.

The statue began to swivel back, sealing the portal just seconds after Efa had descended below into the secret passageway and plunging them into darkness.

"_Lumos!" _She whispered, illuminating both the dark and draughty passage and Remus along with it, who was grinning like an idiot.

He held up a finger to his lips, and they both paused, their chests heaving from the sudden run as they listened to a set of footsteps and the muffled voice of Regulus Black from above.

"_Hathaway__?"_

They waited until the footsteps had passed overhead until Remus dared to speak.

"You're welcome."

"I – thank you." She stated, eyes wandering the passage in open curiosity and astonishment. "What is this place? How did you know it was here?"

"You know that secret passage Dumbledore constructed for me? The one I use on the full moon?" He asked, watching as her eyes widened comically.

"Is this it?"

"No," He replied with a grin. "Dumbledore made us swear not to tell anyone else about the location. But there are other passageways besides that one. This one leads to the second floor, behind the portrait of Morgan le Fay."

"And the others?" She breathed, looking positively ravenous for the knowledge.

"Well I can't just go around giving away all my secrets, now can I?" He retorted with a small smirk.

"You really won't tell?" Asked Efa, looking so disappointed that he nearly gave in.

"Not a chance." Continued the seventh-year. "The others would kill me if I did. In fact, I probably won't tell them that I took you down here today. Sirius would have my head!"

"Fine. Keep your secrets." She declared hotly, though he could clearly see that her eyes reflected the mirth that was surely showcased in his own gaze. "I really owe you one, though."

He gave her a mischievous grin, fully intent on taking advantage of those words.

"And what may I expect in payment?"

She glanced at him briefly as he took her hand again and began to lead her down the passageway, expression unreadable.

"I'll take one of your patrols with Maxine?"

"No, no, I don't think that really covers it, do you?"

She laughed then.

"My, you're greedy today." She stated. "I can tutor you in Welsh?"

"Tempting, but I'll pass."

"What do you want then?"

He stopped abruptly, rubbing his chin in thought for theatrics. She sighed, but waited for him to voice his request.

"Take me as your date for Slughorn's Christmas party." He stated boldly, eyes twinkling as he continued. "Those are my terms."

She raised a dark brow at hearing her own words from their Hogsmeade trip slung back at her, and he kept his cocky grin on his face even though he felt rather nervous on the inside.

"Terms and conditions?" She finally said, lips turning upwards into a teasing smile as she recalled his response to her on that same day to mind. "Careful, Remus, you're beginning to sound like a Ravenclaw."

"Those are my terms, Miss Hathaway."

"Then I suppose I'll have to comply, Mr. Lupin."

.

* * *

.

Regulus had reached his limit. All it would take was one metaphorical straw on the back of an equally metaphorical camel.

His mind was whirling, his heart sifting through many emotions that remained unidentifiable, and a sense of raw agitation seemed to grind away at his nerves.

If someone had told him at the beginning of the year that a girl as insignificant as Efa Hathaway would leave him in such a state, he would have thought them to be mad.

Yet here he was.

Never had he suspected that she might be the type to hold a grudge, to do anything other than bend to the wills of others, but she had finally shown a bit of spine. Unfortunately for Regulus, it had been directed towards him and at a very inopportune moment. Could she not have waited to make her annoying stand for equal treatment at another time?

Apparently not.

He had thought that dropping the hint of a threat he did not really mean might bend her into submission. It was not as if he could have her going around the school and babbling sensitive information as she pleased.

His fault, however, had been in misjudging her character and attempting to threaten her into doing as he asked. She had not reacted as he had hoped she might, or as any of his housemates might have. Threats were common amongst his peers, it was just how they operated.

Then again, she wasn't one of his housemates.

Regulus Black had made a mistake, and it was not often he admitted to his own fallacies. He had allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement, and he had allowed his pride to keep him from thinking straight when he had snapped at her that night in the library.

His first mistake had been to let himself become so emotionally compromised.

He could see that clearly. Yet even now, as he waited for Efa to arrive at their meeting spot where they usually began their patrols, his chest still twisted violently at the idea that somebody like Efa had seen him at his most vulnerable. Or anyone at all for that matter.

He was still angry, still irrationally upset with himself for allowing his barriers to crack in front of her. He was still so confused about that evening, and about the kindness she had shown him in response – anyone else he was acquainted with would have been happy to use that information against him.

Again, he had to remind himself that Efa was not used to the way pure-blood society worked, of the cunning and backstabbing. In his world, it was kill or be killed, both literally and metaphorically. Over the years, Regulus had learnt to build a wall of ice around his heart and mind to protect himself, the icy barrier cold and unrelenting.

As a result, he was surviving; prospering, in fact. That wall of ice was what kept him safe inside its impenetrable fortress, and subsequently, what kept others _out_. Yet Efa, in a strange turn of events, had seen through the splintering cracks that had formed in his walls after he had come face to face with his fears in that bathroom.

She'd seen right through his false pretences, down to his very soul.

And then, at the end of it all, she had the audacity to treat him with kindness? As if he were some sort of charity case or someone to be pitied and not a pureblood heir of one of the most noble and powerful families of the wizarding community? She was either quite dense, or had forgotten her place.

In that evening of vulnerability and secret fears shared between them, a gap had been bridged, and he was not comfortable with what that might mean moving forward.

The vitriol he had spewed at her in the library was a direct result of that discomfort – the discomfort of being seen and understood in a way he would rather not be seen and understood.

Regardless of his own reasoning, however, he was aware that he had made a mistake. He was supposed to be growing closer to her for his mission, to be gaining her trust slowly and turning her allegiances towards the Dark Lord.

But there was more to it than that, as much as he tried to deny it.

Regulus tried to convince himself that he did not feel guilty for the look of hurt and shock that he had seen on her face before she left the restricted section, but he found he could not do so. He knew he had hurt her.

For some reason, that knowledge did not sit well with him. It left him feeling uncomfortable and fidgety. Regulus had, of course, hurt many people in his life with cruel words and careless actions, but never once had he felt bothered by it. Not until now.

A strange, foreign sentiment had wormed its way into a heart he had thought to be made of stone, and he did not care for it, not one bit.

_Guilt_.

What an inconvenient sentiment.

Realistically, he knew he owed her nothing. She was so far beneath him it was laughable, and he was only at her side to win her over to their cause…but the haunted look of pain in her eyes when he had snapped at her would not leave his mind.

He had waited for her to seek him out, to say that she had overreacted and was happy to continue their project together. He had waited for things to return to normal. He had waited for her to speak to him. She had done none of those things.

Instead, she went about their time together in class and patrols with a completely serene and neutral mask, only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. He'd tried starting a few conversations with her, to see if she might be content to move forward and forget about their little spat, but it was not so.

Outside of their patrols, he had tried to seek her out, but each time she managed to slip away. Efa Hathaway was really very talented at going unnoticed when she wanted to, and he had underestimated her ability to slip like sand, right out of his grasp.

Especially earlier that morning. The girl had disappeared into thin air, along with that Lupin boy.

His features morphed into a scowl as he recalled to memory the night that he had told the others to add her name to the list of potential candidates, and when Lestrange had mentioned she was close with the Gryffindor prefect. He had not realised Lestrange meant they were _that_ close.

He had seen them smiling and laughing together, their hands interlaced in the corridor. His irritation spiked again at the memory.

Regulus never saw that side of her when they were together, not unless he told her something particularly interesting about a field of academia she was interested in. Sure, she smiled and laughed in front of him, showing him little snippets of her true personality, but not in the way that he had seen her with the Lupin boy today.

And yet there she had been, practically skipping down the hallway with that blood-traitor who was friends with Sirius. That thought was also something that aroused certain strange feelings he was not sure he particularly cared for, for it meant that Efa might be an acquaintance of his disgraced brother.

For some reason, that thought made him feel oddly disgruntled. Sirius had always taken pleasure in stealing what belonged to Regulus when they were younger.

He was wrenched from his thoughts then when he heard a quiet shuffling noise, looking up to see that the young woman currently occupying his thoughts had arrived for their patrols.

Her eyes were trained on something past him so she would not accidentally meet his gaze, her face carefully composed. She did not speak.

So, another night of silence then.

At first, it had not bothered him, but now he was growing tired of her stubbornness.

Their patrol began in silence, like it had for the last week since they had exchanged their inflammatory words in the restricted section. No thoughts were spoken, no glances exchanged, no academia to be discussed. Just quiet, and not the peaceful kind that Regulus welcomed on occasion.

Surely she did not mean to stay like this until he gave in? Surely she was not truly going to back out of their Potions contest for something so small?

_But it wasn't something small, was it?_

That nagging voice in the back of his mind was there again, and he frowned unhappily as the thought surfaced in his mind that perhaps he was in the wrong.

His parents had raised him to never apologise. To offer an apology was to offer a white flag, to admit one's defeat, and Regulus was not defeated.

Then again, his parents had never been the best of role models, even Regulus could admit to that.

Perhaps…he could concede, just this once. For the sake of winning her to the cause of the Dark Lord, of course. His mission had to come first, and if it required lowering himself to establish a sense of trust once more, then he supposed he could make that sacrifice.

Though he could not deny, mission aside, that his heart and mind would rest easier with this behind them. It would be most pleasant to return to how things had been.

He debated within his mind how he ought to say it, or how he might approach the situation. He could not remember the last time he ever apologised to anyone, and one could safely say his skills in that department were rusty.

Regulus went through countless scenarios in his head, none of which sounded right.

They were climbing up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower as he debated with himself, the cosy little hideaway a popular place for couples to try and sneak off to at night. They had yet to catch a couple there this year, but he doubted it would be long with the holidays around the corner.

As they finally ascended into the tower, Regulus found he could sympathise with those who tried to steal a moment with a significant other there.

The Astronomy Tower was warm and inviting. Professor Sinistra had covered the floor in plush padding and large, fluffy pillows. Enchanted and twinkling lights lined the ground so one could know where to step, for the tower was always kept fairly dark. The ceiling was charmed to be able to be seen through, and classes were taught with students lying down comfortably on the many pillows to gaze directly up at the heavens.

His gaze drifted again to the curly-haired witch, who had momentarily let her eyes drift upwards at the spectacular sight.

The night was clear for once, and the milky-way visible, creating what looked to be a river of stars in the sky. Efa was completely captivated, and Regulus could not blame her. It was certainly a sight to behold.

The thought occurred to him then, as they both spent a brief moment in awe of the natural beauty above their heads.

Vulnerability was what had gotten him into this mess, but perhaps it was also his way to mend what was broken between them. He would not enjoy what came next, but he now realised it to be necessary to win her trust back.

With a mind made up, he sat and leaned back against one of the pillows, directing his gaze up towards the spectacular show of stars. It was then she became aware of his action, finally paying him notice.

"What are you doing?" The girl asked quietly, giving him a strange stare.

"Let me show you something." He intoned instead of answering her question. "Please." He added, when he noticed that she was not complying with his request.

The word felt odd in his mouth, foreign to his tongue, but it had the desired affect he had hoped for.

She lowered herself onto a pillow as well after a few moments debating. They lay side by side, robes and hair splayed out over the plush fabric and stars twinkling almost knowingly above them.

She glanced at him quietly, waiting for him to make his thoughts known.

"My family has a long-held tradition of naming its descendants after stars and constellations." He began, and her brows furrowed quizzically, seemingly unsure of what he was getting at.

He lifted his finger up slowly after finding the constellation he was looking for. Her dark eyes followed his finger to one of the brighter shining stars in the sky.

"There's _Regulus_, it's the brightest star of the constellation '_Leo'_." He relayed, before shifting his index finger northward. "And that's _Arcturus_, in the constellation known as '_The_ _Herdsman'_."

She remained quiet as he pointed more and more out to her, eyes wide as she watched him draw out the constellations in the sky for her and tell their mythological stories. Bellatrix, Sirius, Orion, Narcissa, Alphard, and many more – all his family members and his noble ancestors scattered throughout the night sky.

It was a legacy he was proud of, with names that held much meaning for him.

"The Black family has been prominent for centuries." He murmured and she turned her head towards him as he spoke, centring her attentions on to his face. "And now that Sirius is…gone, I am the last of this line. What you saw with the boggart is indeed my greatest fear."

"Failure and loneliness?" She whispered her guess, to which he gave a solemn nod.

"There was an immense loss of face after Sirius left, and my parents have stressed to me time and time again the importance of regaining that status. I am expected to make up for the damage he caused." He spoke, admitting what he had not yet admitted to anyone else. "At times…" He paused, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, but continuing anyway. "At times it feels too much to carry. And I –"

Why was this so hard to say? He found then that he could not continue.

"You're overwhelmed." She murmured simply, and he felt the strangest sense of relief when she summarised it into two simple words.

It was an affirming experience, and for a moment, he felt as though the burden on his shoulders had lifted some of its weight just by sharing his plight with her.

"I suppose you could say that." He replied softly. "There is much expected of me, and every aspect of my life is monitored and assessed, even down to whom I associate with."

"Like 'half-blooded filth'?" She stated wryly, and he fought the urge to grimace at hearing his cruel words slung back at him.

It wasn't until he heard his own words coming from her lips that the regret truly made itself known within his chest.

He really ought not to have said that, he realised that now.

"I admit I got carried away." Regulus relented, though he found he truly wished he could take those words back now as he heard them repeated. "I would not consider myself a particularly kind or caring person, but please believe me when I say that I regret what I said."

"You took your anger out on me, Regulus." She reminded him quietly.

"I was confused."

"Why?"

A pregnant pause stretched between them. He had a feeling she already knew why, but wanted to hear him say it aloud for some reason.

He hated this. He hated opening up to her, and he hated showing this vulnerable side of his person. Yet at the same time, he found it oddly gratifying to talk so candidly to someone who he believed likely had his best interests at heart. This was certainly a first for him, in many ways.

_Foolish, kind girl_.

Still, he continued his explanation, though he now found himself struggling to do so as the conversation grew more and more personal by the minute.

"You saw me at my most vulnerable. No one has seen that of me before. Things among pure-blooded society are much different than how I imagine you were raised." She frowned, but did not stop him. "The people I might call "friends" would not hesitate to use what you saw that night against me, to gain leverage to their advantage. I made a mistake in thinking you would do the same. You must understand that I am accustomed to a certain way of life, and that I have come to expect certain behaviours of people."

"You would expect that type of manipulation from your friends and family?" She breathed, sounding astounded to hear such a thing.

Merlin, she really had no idea how pure-blood society worked, did she? For a moment, he was almost jealous of her warm nature and gently naïveté. Such things were not found among his family and the other families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

He kept his eyes glued on the stars now.

"Yes." He replied without missing a beat, for it was true. "My life has long lacked much of the warmth I suspect you are familiar with. Our worlds are very different, Efa, and we are products of our environments. I realise that this is not an excuse, however."

His family would not hesitate a single moment to bend his own fears against him if it meant they were able to exercise more control over him. And his house mates…well, he did not want to think about that. It would be unpleasant, to say the very least.

Regulus knew very little about love and what it felt like to be loved, but he did know one thing: the carefully disguised manipulation and cruelty he'd grown up with was not the love he had thought it might be as a child.

"I think I understand now." She spoke softly after a few moments. "But that doesn't excuse what you said or how you've treated me in the past. I know my worth, Regulus."

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, fighting with the last pieces of his crumbling pride before he finally relented.

"You'll have my respect should we move forward and put this behind us. This I promise you."

He waited, feeling strangely peaceful as he listened for her response.

"Alright." She agreed after a few moments, and he opened his eyes, turning his head towards hers to meet her gaze.

"Then you will agree to move forward and return to our studies for the competition?" He asked, relief flooding through his veins.

"I have one condition."

"Name it."

Regulus was used to bargaining in such a fashion. It was just how things were done in the world he had grown up in. However, he never could have been ready for what came next from her lips.

"I don't just want to have your respect. I want to be your friend." She stated boldly, and he could not help being taken aback by the demand. "Those are my terms."

_Friends?_

She must have gone mad.

Regulus Black did not have friends. He preferred it that way, in fact. Friends were only a weakness at the end of the day, and likely to betray you. Purebloods simply could not afford to have true friends, and when they did, it was for the sake of mutual benefit or because they had been instructed to do so.

Then again, Efa was certainly not a pureblood.

The witch had struck her bargain, and if there was anything he had learned about her in the past week, it was that she could be uncharacteristically stubborn about what she felt was best – and she had apparently decided it was best for them to be friends.

"I don't have friends." He stated coldly, in a last-ditch attempt to try and throw her off the ridiculous idea.

"You do now." She replied mildly.

He allowed himself a small sigh, glancing back up at the stars above their heads.

His ancestors twinkled in their positions in the heavens, but Regulus was aware they were only stars and could not see the two of them.

What they did not know would not hurt them.

"Fine." He agreed. "Friends."

He opened his eyes warily, turning his head to meet her gaze once more. She was smiling at him, and in that moment, Regulus felt a beat of something akin to serenity within his chest.

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**Reviews!**

**Belle Phoenix - **Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Vvls - **I'm glad that part looks good, because I did spend a lot of time reading up on historical and mythical interpretations of alchemy before adding my own twist to it. It's actually quite interesting, I ended up learning a lot!

**Love Fiction 2019 - **It was about time, wasn't it? She'll grow a spine, slowly but surely.

**Lyanna **\- I'm glad you enjoyed Efa's badassery, lol. She's growing more confident (finally). and yes, I agree, I had always wished we had more information about just why Peter made that choice. I always felt like it must have been something else besides self-preservation, given how close he was with his friends. What do you think?

**Guest - **Your review made my heart warm! I love it when people appreciate OCs, because it can be quite daunting to write them and have them fit in well with the story. I think it's pretty hard to centre stories around OCs without it being cringey so I'm happy to hear you like them! I hope you're having a good day as well, and thank you so much for your kind reviews :)

**Zeraph End -** Thanks for the feedback! I do really appreciate constructive criticism, it helps me see things from outside my little writing box and improve my technique. I only started writing about two years ago, so I'm trying to improve as much as I can. Thank you for the review and advice :)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N - I'm hoping you guys are all safe and healthy. All this stuff with the virus and how wild it is in my country has made it hard to get reliable internet access, and the last time I had good access, I used it to update my Star Wars story (sorry, haha). Anyway, I haven't replied to reviews this time because I'm sort on time, but hopefully I'll be able to do so next time. I'll try to update in two weeks, if I'm able.**

**As always, thank you for the warmth and support, it really fills my heart with joy and encourages me to keep going!**

**Stay safe, friends. Wishing you all the best.**

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_December, 1977_

_._

The cauldron rocked violently upon the wooden work table.

"Try adding a teaspoon of the powdered salamander entrails!" Efa cried frantically, attempting to stir the sludge-like potion that was now beginning to spark violently, singeing little holes into the sleeves of her robes.

"No, that will react with the frog toes." Replied Regulus, and though he was not as frantic as his female counterpart, there was a certain strain to his tone as he continued to eye the sparking and bubbling mixture inside the cauldron in apprehension. "Try giving it five counter-clockwise stirs."

The cauldron began smoking after only three stirs, thick black fumes covering Efa's horrified face in soot. The classroom they were using for their experiment now had a foggy look to it that certainly had not been there when the duo had first arrived.

"More Neem root?" Suggested Efa between hacking coughs as the smoke infiltrated her lungs.

"We've already used the upper limit of the recommended amount, any more and it might start a fire." He replied, grabbing her copy of '_an Appendix to Magical Herbs and their Many Properties'_, and flipping through the pages as quickly as he could.

"I reckon that's where we're heading unless we find a better stabiliser." Efa mumbled as more sparks and smoke began to billow from the cauldron. "Preferably soon, Regulus."

The cauldron was now rattling about intensely, and Efa took a nervous step back, abandoning the stirring spoon, which promptly began to disintegrate and melt into the thick black sludge.

Their attempts thus far at creating a proper base for a potion, one that would prove powerful and stable enough to handle the influence of ancient blood magic, had been largely unsuccessful. So unsuccessful, in fact, that they had already ruined a total of seven cauldrons, caused three explosions, and exhausted much of the supplies that Slughorn had provided them with.

"I think it's time to call it quits." The witch remarked nervously, and it only took one look towards the ticking time bomb of a cauldron for Regulus to nod his agreement.

In one quick movement, Efa pulled out her wand and pointed it directly into the centre of the cauldron, a grimace on her face as more smoke continued to plume.

"_Evanesco." _She stated tiredly, and the horrible sludge inside the cauldron vanished, leaving behind a battered and steaming hunk of metal in its wake.

They shared an exhausted look with one another, Regulus with slumped shoulders and Efa with a frustrated sigh.

"Well," Regulus voiced after a few moments. "We certainly know that the frog toes were not your best idea."

"I was sure it might work." Grumbled Efa, wiping at her face but only managing to smear more soot on her skin. "What a mess, huh?"

"Speak for yourself." He replied loftily, and Efa sent him an exasperated look.

His robes were pristine, not a hair was out of place, and his skin was free of ash and soot. Efa, on the other hand, was not sure she wished to see her reflection any time soon, and she knew she was going to have to make use of a mending spell for her robes that she had learned in Charms during third year.

"At least the cauldron is alright." Regulus offered after giving the great black pot an inspection. "I'm not sure Slughorn would have been keen to lend us another."

"Not even for the Most Noble and Most Ancient House Black?" Efa joked lightly, and Regulus made a small sound of amusement.

"I think that perhaps even Slughorn has his limits." Regulus stated, to which Efa gave a small grin. "Though I do intend to pay the school back for all the supplies we've used."

"You mean destroyed?"

"That would be another way to phrase it, yes."

Efa could not help but smile wider at his subtle humour.

It had been two weeks since they had come to their tenuous agreement of friendship, and Efa was glad for it. It made things much easier, and it made all the time they were spending together more enjoyable as well.

Her heart felt lighter, and she was glad the angry tension that had previously crackled like electricity between them was now resolved. She was sleeping easier since they had agreed move forward.

Regulus seemed to have settled back into their normal routine as well, and though he had not shared anything else personal since his apology to her that night in the Astronomy Tower, he had done well to make sure he spoke respectfully to her as he had promised.

His demeanour had shifted. It was a miniscule movement, hardly visible to the naked eye and intuition, but it was there. She could sense it.

It showed itself in all the little ways that often went overlooked: he would ask her opinion on how to proceed when he had not done so previously, he would listen to all her words attentively instead of dismissing her, and when they were in each other's presence he spoke to her in a fashion that was not demeaning or condescending, like an equal.

She felt…_noticed_.

That sensation was normally one she preferred to avoid, but in this scenario, she could not help but admit that she enjoyed the feeling.

There were still some things that Efa felt would need to change if they were going to be friends, however. His haughty airs were quite tiring to deal with, the way he spoke of others he perceived as lesser than him was still overly prejudiced, and his attitude could change from somewhat pleasant and conversational to icy and brooding in an instant.

She could work with that, though. It was a start, and she was glad that he had been more agreeable since their resolved conflict than he had before. Efa could tell he was making the effort.

However, she had been quite surprised to find that Regulus had not been lying when he had mentioned that he did not have friends. She had been sure it was just an attempt to throw her off, but now she could see that what he had said was the cold, hard truth.

Regulus Black had little to no idea what true friendship entailed.

So, she made a point to speak more openly, though still making sure not to delve into territory too personal or revealing. She purposefully smiled more around him, she spoke more clearly and with less reservations, and she talked about things outside of academics in an effort to get to know each other better.

They'd had a variety of normal (and extremely awkward) conversations thus far. It was odd, but it was progress in her mind.

They spoke of mundane things – like favourite colours, their preferred quidditch teams, hobbies they enjoyed, and the such. She told him of all the wild adventures she'd had growing up with her father toting her along to archaeological excavations and digs, and he spoke of all the countries he'd visited and the languages he had committed to memory.

They talked of their favourite holidays, foods, memories, and more. All the stuff that seemed so silly to ask of each other but was still nice to know.

It was all very strange of course, to chat so nonsensically with a pureblood, and there was always some nagging portion of her mind that whispered that to pursue a friendship with someone of his status and power was very foolish of her. Yet every time she found herself in his company, that voice of reason became harder and harder to hear.

Perhaps it was a foolish idea, but she couldn't help but believe that Regulus was different.

No one else seemed to agree with her, though. Otto sneered at the mention of his name, Remus and his friends spoke poorly of him at every chance, and even though Gwyn did not join in on any of it she remained wary of the Slytherin pureblood.

She recognised, to an extent, that even Regulus did not seem to think himself capable of anything good. Efa had no idea what she was trying to prove, or to whom. All she knew was that she was glad that things were back to normal between them, whatever their normal looked like. She still wasn't completely sure what their normal was. Perhaps that answer would come in time.

Either way, she was comfortable around him now, and that meant something significant to her.

"You look horrible." Regulus stated suddenly, and Efa glanced down towards her clothing.

She could feel that many of her curls had slipped loose from the messy knot at the nape of her neck. Her robes were littered in scorch marks, and her hands and face were likely covered in soot. A proper mess.

She wiped at her face subconsciously, and grimaced when her palms came back covered in black.

"I think I'll be making good use of the baths in the prefect bathroom." She announced, and he gave a slight wrinkling of his nose as she passed him to begin bottling their ingredients back up.

"Perhaps you should do that now." He recommended, the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips as he glanced towards the glass storage bottles in her hands. "You're getting soot on everything. I can clean up the rest, it isn't much."

Efa turned her gaze towards the containers in her hand, noting that Regulus was correct. She'd left black ash and soot smeared over everything she had touched, and it would not be polite to return the ingredients to Slughorn in such a state.

"Thanks." She agreed after a few moments, making quick work of slinging her book bag over her shoulder. "I'll take you up on your offer, then. Same time tomorrow?"

"Of course." He supplied immediately, and Efa could tell that even though the two of them had just experienced yet another afternoon of failure, that he was still looking forward to another clean start and all the fresh opportunity it brought with it.

Regulus, despite her original assumption, had turned out to be a wealth of patience. Efa, on the other hand, was growing more and more frustrated with each failed attempt. Perhaps she ought to take a leaf from Regulus' book, but there was nothing that upset the Welsh witch more than failure.

"Goodnight, Regulus." She gave him a hesitant smile, which he did not return but at least acknowledged with a soft bob of his head.

"Goodnight, Efa."

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Murky green light filtered in almost lazily throughout the Slytherin common room.

It cast an eerie glow over the dark wood, ornately carved stone, and black leather furnishings, tinging everything it touched in green. If one used their imagination, it could be easy to perceive they were in a perfectly preserved shipwreck of sorts, as fish and other interesting creatures swam outside the tall glass windows that let them see into the depths of the lake.

Mediaeval tapestries of their pure-blooded ancestors hung on the walls, and dark décor was tastefully blended in to the surrounding area, giving the space a look that was regal and elegant, though lacking in warmth.

During the afternoons, on days the sun chose to shine through the normally heavy cloud cover, there would be dancing reflections of light scattered and glimmering throughout their common room. Today, however, there was no sun to be had, and by the way the water outside the windows had taken a darker hue, he could tell that the sun had long since dipped below the hills of the horizon.

Regulus sat next to an exquisitely carved mantelpiece of their fireplace, in a stiff high-backed leather chair and with his books and notes spread out messily over the surface of a perfectly polished mahogany table. It really must have been late, he realised, for he was the last one still lingering in the common room.

The atmosphere in the common room was quite similar to that of Grimmauld Place, the décor and glittering darkness that seemed to simultaneously inspire both intrigue and a restless disposition reminding him of the grand manor he called home.

Spaces like these were similar to the sense one got if taking a stroll through a forest at night, or perhaps a particularly dark alleyway. There was always the strange pull in one's heart to explore, to step off the beaten path and traverse through the unknown, yet it was nearly always accompanied with a twinge of fear of what one might find lurking in the shadows.

He was not sure he could describe it any other way.

Grand, cold, elegant, curious, and dark. These were the adjectives he might use to describe his home and their common room. So much of his life had been spent in and about such places. Come to think of it, those were the same adjectives one might use to describe his family at first glance.

_Enough of that_. He chastised himself soundlessly as he returned his inquisitive gaze back to his notes and an open book.

He had just made a breakthrough in his and Efa's little potion dilemma, and was quite relieved to finally know why none of their attempts at creating a successful base for their potion had worked so far.

The answer was actually so simple it was laughable. All he had needed to do was to open a history book that covered the topic of ancient potion-brewing. He'd found the answer in under an hour of perusing the dusty old pages.

They were attempting to re-create what they suspected a potion base from ancient wizarding communities might have consisted of, using ingredients that would have been widely available to local communities many centuries ago.

The problem they were having, as he had finally come to the conclusion, was not the ingredients they were using at all.

The problem was the _cauldron_.

Standard, school-issued cauldrons were made up of a special blend of metal alloys. Blending certain metals together made sure the cauldrons were of the strongest grade for the many inevitable accidents that occurred in the lessons. The school used the highest quality alloy because other pure metals were not as tough, easier to melt and destroy.

So far, Efa and Regulus had been using the metal alloy cauldrons.

Witches and wizards of the earliest magical communities would not have had metal alloys. In those early days, they would not have had the knowledge or capability at that time in history to create a blended metal.

Instead, ancient witches and wizards had used iron ore and copper for their cauldrons.

Regulus had a strong suspicion that if they tried using one of the iron-ore cauldrons, that they might have more success. If they were truly attempting to re-create something from ancient magical practice, it only made sense to make sure they covered every area.

Regulus even found that he was looking forward to sharing this information with her. Oh yes, he could practically visualise the little pout that would form on her lips when he announced that he had figured it out before she had. Efa was, perhaps, one of the most academically competitive souls he had ever encountered. Trouble was, Regulus didn't like to be outdone.

He still wasn't sure about this whole "friendship" idea that she'd gotten, but he could not deny he enjoyed the intellectual stimulation that their conversations brought. Now that they operated with less reservation around each other, they were having more conversations that covered a variety of topics.

He was thankful for the fact that she did not push him to reveal anything further than what he had spoken of that night in the astronomy tower. Instead, she asked after the oddest little details.

She wanted to know what his hobbies were, what colours he fancied, what foods he preferred, and other strange questions. And in return, she would tell him hers.

He had discovered she was a fan of the Holyhead Harpies, that her favourite colour was lilac, that her preferred hobby outside of reading was dinghy sailing with her father (which had required an explanation), and that she enjoyed fresh seafood.

Why she was asking the most insignificant questions he'd ever heard – Regulus had no idea.

It was not, however, unpleasant. And if it appeased her, he would continue to answer her silly little questions and play along. He had a mission, after all, and he felt things were progressing smoothly this way. He needed her trust, and he knew he was on the right path to acquiring it.

All in all, it was not too terrible an arrangement. And he was glad to note that she was no longer carefully guarded around him, speaking more candidly. In return, he also let himself speak somewhat freely. They spoke of many things, ranging all the way from politics to preferred weather.

He could, perhaps, even go so far as to say their time was…enjoyable.

If this was what it meant to have a friend, he supposed it was not as horrid as he had originally suspected it might be. Even if that "friend" was a half-blood.

The careless scraping of a high-backed chair against dark wooden floors tore him from his thoughts, as he noted in distaste that Rabastan Lestrange had taken the seat opposite from him. He'd been so engrossed in his thoughts about the curly-haired witch that he had failed to notice Lestrange's approach.

Rabastan sat himself down on the chair with much ceremony, as if he were sitting upon a throne. He set a book atop the polished wood table but did not open it, instead choosing to lounge back against the black leather padding and direct his sights towards the Black family heir.

Regulus clenched his jaw tightly, but did not meet the young man's gaze as he continued his work.

Lestrange was always testing those around him, always pushing and prodding, always playing games – and Regulus wanted none of it. He had little patience for Rabastan's odd preferences and dark, whimsical behaviours.

A few moments passed, and it was not long before Lestrange got tired of waiting and reached across the table to take the book that Regulus had been flipping pages in, snatching the old appendix for himself and bringing it to his face.

Regulus' grip on his quill was so tight he feared it might snap.

"Is there something you need, Lestrange?" He snapped, finally looking towards his fellow Slytherin, who did not take kindly to being ignored.

"Dear little Reggie, you're more than welcome to call me Rabastan you know. We are cousins by marriage now. Then again, I suppose we're all related some way or another." He drawled, tossing the potions book carelessly to the side. "Bellatrix sends her regards, by the way. Got a letter this morning."

Regulus maintained his composure despite the annoyance that surged through his veins.

"Lestrange will do." He replied coldly. "What do you want? I'm not in the mood for your games."

"Who said anything about games?"

"Just tell me what you want and be on your way."

Lestrange laughed, the sound chilling even to Regulus.

"I was just curious as to how your project is coming along. I've placed a bet with Nott that you'll win, but Mulciber has thirty galleons on Snape and Salvatore." Rabastan spoke slowly, almost haphazardly, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "All this excitement has me wishing I had taken the advanced class for sixth and seventh years."

"We're making progress." Spat Regulus. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do-"

"I had a nice chat with your partner in the library the other day." Announced Rabastan suddenly, eyes sparking in delight. "I found our talk quite invigorating."

Regulus froze, a strange sensation enveloping his chest. It was a feeling he had no name for, but one that made the muscles inside his body tense and his heart hammer angrily.

"What business do you have with her?" He demanded, sitting up straighter.

"I could ask you the same…" Trailed off Rabastan, the corners of his lips curling upwards in a nasty smirk. "Though I suppose I've got a decent guess."

"And what might that be?" Asked Regulus warily.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all, does it?" Rabastan intoned quietly, grin growing. "Like father like son."

The cold rage in his chest began to overflow then, and Regulus allowed it show on his face.

"Explain yourself, Lestrange." He demanded in a growl.

"Your father has himself a pretty little French vixen, if I remember correctly. Then again, so does mine…Taking a leaf from daddy's book?" Rabastan declared. "It's a clever approach, Regulus, and I can't say I blame you. What better way to win trust?"

Regulus stood, the chair scraping loudly on the floor.

Rabastan watched him, a triumphant look in his eyes that Regulus loathed to see. He hated that the young man had gotten a rise out of him, but he could not simply listen any longer.

"You will _not_ talk about my family in such a tactless fashion." He seethed. "Nor will you tarnish my name."

The bit about his father's mistress was true, he could not deny it. But to insinuate that Regulus intended to do the same with Efa struck a chord deep within him that Rabastan had likely intended to prod at.

His father was a cruel, cold man. Regulus did not like being reminded of their similarities.

"My, my, my – such a temper." Tutted Rabastan in mock disappointment. "Have I struck a nerve? My apologies."

"What is your _point_, Lestrange?" He hissed angrily, and this time, Rabastan rose as well, slowly standing to meet Regulus' gaze at eye level.

The younger Lestrange son leaned forward, pressing his palms delicately against the table.

"My point, dear cousin, is that you should be careful with whom you associate your name with." He murmured quietly, the smile falling from his face. "I might be the first to notice, but it won't take long before people start asking questions."

"You seem to forget that my motives are simply to bring her into the service of the Dark Lord, nothing more. You've read too much into the situation and would do well to keep your nose out of it." Retorted Regulus with a glare. "You would also do well to leave her alone. I'm taking care of this mission - me. If you scare her off, you'll have _him_ to answer to."

"That's all fine and well, little cousin." He drawled coolly. "But remember your place. Too much time spent with filth like that and people might start wondering if there's something more there than just your duty to our cause. Remember who you are, and remember who she is."

"How many times must I stress that I am doing this for the sake of the cause? _He_ prioritizes talent over blood status, half-blood or pure-blood."

The grin was back on Rabastan's face in an instant, and he straightened, taking his book in hand and looking as though he were getting ready to depart.

"Who said anything about half-bloods?" Rabastan voiced the question with a dismissive chuckle, before turning and heading towards the entrance of the common room. "Sleep tight, Reggie."

.

* * *

.

Piercing screams rang out in the dormitory, the tortured cries echoing off the stone walls of the dungeon beneath the lake.

Regulus sat bolt upright in an instant, his normally heavy-lidded gaze wide as the horrible wailing continued from somewhere off to his right, the sounds only somewhat muffled by the thick green curtains surrounding each bed within the dormitory for sixth and seventh year boys.

His spine was straight as a rod in his startled stupor, and his heart pounded heavily against his chest from the sudden awakening. The thick covers had pooled around his hips, allowing the cool air of the dungeons to nip at his hot skin.

He'd been in the middle of a strange dream – one that involved a certain witch who seemed to be taking over more and more space within his mind lately.

One of his dorm mates groaned, and he could hear the shifting of blankets as Yaxley rolled over and mumbled something about goblins in his sleep in the bunk next to Regulus. Yaxley could sleep through just about anything, and this was no exception.

"It's Rosier again, somebody shut him up before I smother him with my pillow." Growled a sleepy Mulciber, sounding positively venomous at being awoken at such an ungodly hour.

"Again?" Grumbled Gregory Wilkes.

Regulus felt his heartbeat returning to normal, and he took a long breath before he responded.

"I've got him." He voiced quietly, and Mulciber growled something else that Regulus couldn't make out, though he figured that was likely for the best.

Regulus grimaced as the soles of his bare feet hit the cold stone floors. He moved quickly to where the sounds were coming from, noting that he could now hear what sounded like strangled sobs as well.

This was not the first time they had been awoken by Evan Rosier's night terrors, but it was the first time the young man had reacted to his nightmares so loudly and violently.

His lips pulled down in a frown as he threw back the heavy curtains that were drawn shut around Evan's bunk, revealing his writhing and sweat covered form to a tired grey gaze that was not without pity.

He gave the boy a harsh shove, and waited until the young man's blue eyes snapped open in terror, a sharp gasp sucked in through trembling lips.

"I – I killed – I killed –" He sputtered, his face a mess of tears, snot, and sweat. "I killed them – I didn't want to – _He _made me –"

Regulus reacted on instinct, his hand shooting out to cover the treacherous words that spilled from Rosier's mouth and bringing a slender, pale finger to his own lips. Rosier thankfully complied with the silent command, and Regulus spared a wary glance towards Lestrange's bunk.

Though there was no noise coming from behind the curtains drawn around Rabastan's bed, Regulus was certain he was awake. Nothing went unnoticed where he was concerned. And if the Black heir knew Lestrange at all, it was likely he was listening.

"Let's get you cleaned up." Regulus mumbled, hoisting Evan to his shaking legs and pulling him forward. "Then you'll go back to bed and refrain from disrupting our sleep further. Do you understand?"

He spat the words with anger, though it was only for the sake of the performance. Rabastan was surely listening for anything of use to him, and Regulus did not want him to overhear anything Rosier might let slip in his terror-induced state.

Out of all his so-called comrades, it was Evan Rosier's company he felt he could tolerate the most – and he did not wish for Rosier to fall victim to any of Lestrange's twisted little games.

The very moment the door to their communal bathroom had closed behind them, he had his wand drawn, casting a quick muffling charm on the entrance so that nothing could be overheard.

"Wash your face with cold water. It helps." Instructed Regulus, and Evan clumsily complied with the suggestion, turning the ornate silver nozzles to one of the wash basins and beginning to splash the cold liquid onto his face.

The cold-water trick was something he had learned long ago. Growing up in Grimmauld Place had given him many experiences similar to this one. He'd learned the tricks of the trade – how to handle the images that haunted one's dreams, and how to compartmentalise all the horrid memories until they were almost forgotten.

Almost.

The nozzle shut off, and the shaken young man gripped the edges of the sink so tightly his knuckles went white as droplets of water dripped from his jaw and fringe. He would not look at his reflection. Regulus suspected he knew why that might be the case.

"You need to be more careful." Regulus intoned quietly, and Evan's head sank, his grip on the sink basin tightening further. "Don't make the mistake of thinking they won't use this against you. They will, you know that."

It was quiet in the bathroom, so quiet that Rosier's shaky breaths sounded obnoxiously loud.

"I keep seeing their faces." He rasped, knees wobbling.

Perhaps it was unwise, but Regulus asked anyway.

"Who's faces?"

A bitter chuckle left his lips.

"You know I took the Mark over the summer, Black. Don't be daft." He replied, the words and their implications striking like a viper. "The Dark Lord, he - he ordered so many deaths…more than I could have imagined."

"I'm sure it was not without reason." Refuted Regulus immediately.

He was not terribly comfortable with where this conversation was heading.

"He even made us kill entire families, Black, even the _children_." His voice wavered. "Their mothers begged, of course, but we had our orders. I see their faces at night. I hear them cry and beg."

Regulus frowned. He did not want to hear any more.

"He had us murder homeless muggles and bring their bodies back to him for some sort of experiment, though I can't imagine what." His voice cracked. "I - I never thought that it would be like this. I never thought-"

"Careful, Rosier." Regulus interrupted. "Some might take those words as treason. It's not our place to question the motives of the Dark Lord."

But the pallid and shaking young wizard continued despite the warning.

"My parents were so proud when the Dark Lord told them that I had been useful. My father practically cried. Can you imagine being proud of the fact your son is a fucking murderer?" Evan tensed then, pausing a long moment before releasing a portion of his long-withheld emotions. "This is all _shite!"_

Glass shattered as Rosier's fist connected with the mirror above the sink basin. Regulus shifted uncomfortably, glancing towards the door.

If anybody happened to walk in, not even the silencing charm would protect them.

"Get a hold on yourself, Rosier-"

"I thought we'd be fighting to make a difference! They said we'd be creating something better-" He yelled, and Regulus felt his eyes widen as Evan staggered towards him, angrily rolling up his sleeve to reveal the ominous tattoo that marked his fair skin. "It's all a lie, Regulus. All of it. It was never about making our world safer. And now there's no way out, _we're all in too deep, even you_-"

Regulus reacted in an instant.

He strode forward in a whirlwind of strange thoughts and emotions, wrapping his hands around the fabric of Evan's pyjama shirt and yanking him forward.

"You've forgotten yourself, and I'll blame it on your currently dishevelled state." Hissed Regulus, face so close to his housemate's that he could see every weary vein in the boy's bloodshot eyes. "You _cannot_ say such things, Evan. They would kill you if they knew. Don't be a fool."

He released his housemate with a shove, the blonde stumbling a few paces back as Regulus continued.

"I will not speak of this to anyone, and I suggest you do the same. Whatever sentiments you may have towards your duty is something you will have to come to terms with."

Evan straightened himself slowly, before looking Regulus dead in the eye.

"Why would you keep this to yourself?" Questioned his fellow pureblood quietly then, seeming to have taken his housemate's words to heart. "You'd be rewarded for telling them I want out, that I can't cope with this. You'll be punished for keeping this to yourself if they find out."

Regulus faltered, though only momentarily.

Why indeed?

He had no answer for that question, only a gut instinct, or perhaps a vague leaning of his own moral compass, but no firm reason as to why he ought to keep Evan Rosier's doubts to himself. He owed the young man nothing.

Evan was right, Regulus would be rewarded immensely for turning him over to the Dark Lord for his comments. His mind whirled as he considered his own reasoning behind why he would possibly choose to stay silent, and it frustrated him that he could think of none.

None of this was as black and white as he had once perceived it to be. And that complicated things immensely.

"Clean yourself up and fix the mirror, Rosier." Snapped Regulus then, suddenly feeling quite agitated. "And for Merlin's sake, cast a silencing charm on your curtains so nobody hears you next time."

And with that he pivoted, marching furiously out of the bathroom and back towards his own bed before the boy could ask him any more questions he had no answers for. He yanked his own curtains shut with more force than necessary and threw his body moodily down on the plush mattress.

After a few minutes passed, he heard Rosier exit the bathroom and make his way towards his own bunk and whisper a quiet charm over his curtains as Regulus had instructed.

He tossed and turned, listening to Yaxley's snores and filtering through a million different thoughts in his mind. Why keep his secret? Why protect him from Lestrange? Why bother to help at all?

His mind continued to flit between Rosier, Lestrange, Efa, and all the other things that were beginning to bubble to the surface.

Regulus was unable to sleep any more that evening.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N - I come bearing gifts of fluff. We'll be back to the dreary and angsty wizarding war next chapter, but with everything going on in the world right now (and how ridiculously anxious I've been as a result), I decided we needed a breather, and our teen characters deserve to be teens for a chapter. Again, with the lockdowns affecting internet, I'm not sure when the next update will be but will try my best.**

**It's unedited, and doesn't really add much to the plot, aside from Efa and Regulus reflecting on their relationship and a little bit of budding interests - so if you'd like to skip it, you won't miss any major plot points. **

**Enjoy the Slughorn Christmas party, stay safe, stay home, and wash your hands!**

**.**

* * *

**.**

_December, 1977_

_._

"This is ridiculous." Grumbled Efa as she stood behind the group of seventh-year boys peering into the library and attempting to be inconspicuous.

_Attempting_ was the keyword. The two boys were anything but inconspicuous.

"Yes, but you agreed to this ridiculousness, so that makes you, by extension, equally ridiculous." Retorted James Potter with an infuriating grin.

Efa scowled, standing on her toes to try to get a glimpse into the library.

"You really won't ask her yourself?" She tried again, hardly ready to perform the task that she had agreed to against her better judgement.

"She'll say no if I ask her. Use that brain of yours, bookworm."

"I told you not to call her that, Prongs." Remus nudged him harshly.

"Yeah, yeah."

Madam Pince sent them a foul glare, and they shrank back a few paces, lowering their voices.

Efa sighed.

James Potter had a particular talent for getting under the skin of just about anyone he came across, and the Welsh witch was certainly no exception. He and Sirius made her blood boil on many occasions, even more often these days now that she was spending a bit more time around Remus.

She had initially refused James' silly request, telling him that if he wanted it badly enough, he could go ask himself. The Gryffindor boy was unrelenting, however, and she had finally given in after a few days of obnoxious pestering.

The two had finally agreed on a bargain: If Efa did this for him, there would be no more teasing of her on his part, and he had to start using her actual name instead of 'bookworm'. It was a hard bargain, but he had agreed, which was the only reason Efa was there now.

"You might want to go on and get it over with, Effie." Remus suggested in a whisper, his lips close to her ear. "I'd reckon Madam Pince is a few seconds away from jinxing our mouths shut."

"Yeah, _Effie-" _James mocked with a smirk. "Go on, a promise is a promise!"

Efa turned her eyes towards the heavens and gathered every bit of patience she had before exhaling slowly and leaving the two Gryffindors behind as she stepped into the library.

Madam Pince was watching her like a hawk, but Efa kept her eyes glued on her goal – a certain Miss Lily Evans.

She approached the table slowly, cursing James Potter every step of the way. She felt awkward and unsure as she came to the table where the red-headed girl was studying on her own.

At least she was by herself, that would make this somewhat easier.

"Is this seat taken? May I sit?" Efa asked once she had come to a stop across from the girl. Lily looked up, slightly startled at the interruption, before a smile bloomed on her features.

"Of course!" She exclaimed quietly, motioning towards the empty chair. "How are you, Efa?"

"Alright, I suppose." The curly-haired witch answered, beginning to fiddle with her thumbs under the table as she struck up pleasantries. "Looking forward to the break? Are you going home?"

"Yes, I am, my parents couldn't bear it if I didn't return for Christmas." She smiled fondly as she spoke of her family. "Will you go home or stay in the castle?"

"Home to Cardiff." Replied Efa immediately. "My father's much the same as your parents, I think. He'd be heartbroken if I didn't come. How is your studying for the N.E.W.T.S coming along?"

"Oh, fine. It's a bit tricky to know what to expect, but I think it should be fine when the time comes." The Gryffindor girl stated confidently. "And how are your classes? Is alchemy as interesting as they say?"

"Very interesting. I can recommend some books if you're interested."

"That would be nice, thank you."

Lily was now looking to Efa expectantly, and it seemed that she knew that the Welsh witch had an ulterior motive beneath the chit-chat.

Efa bit her lip, now rubbing her knuckles raw as she glanced around the library nervously. How was she supposed to just bring this up? How should she phrase the question?

She looked up, over Lily's shoulder to where James Potter was motioning impatiently at her from the doors of the library. Efa fought the urge to frown at him.

"Listen…er…do you have a date for the Slug Club Christmas Party yet?" Asked Efa, finally concluding that it would be best to just ask straightforward.

"Oh-" Began Lily, giving a subtle cock of her head, as if confused to why Efa might be asking after this piece of information. "No, not yet. Why?"

"It's just that – well, I'm going with Remus, you see – and I – well, he thought –" Efa cut herself off in frustration. "Oh, forget it. I'll just tell you, this is absolutely absurd."

Lily was now looking at her as if she had grown another head.

"What?"

Efa groaned.

"James wants you to ask him so we can have a double-date of sorts, and he asked me to convince you that it would be a good idea because he figured you'd say no if he asked." She blurted in one go, throwing caution to the wind. "He's been pestering me about it for days, but I'll tell him no if you aren't interested."

This was what James got for asking her to do his dirty work for him.

The green-eyed witch's face turned sour the instant his name was mentioned.

"He never gives up, does he?" She grumbled to herself. "Why won't he just leave me alone?"

"Shall I tell him the answer's no, then?" Efa asked, ready to be done with playing the middle man.

Lily quieted a moment, lowering her eyes to the textbook in front of her, but not paying attention to any of the words written there. It occurred to Efa then that the Gryffindor girl was actually considering it, much to the Ravenclaw prefect's surprise.

"A double date, then?" the girl thought out loud. "I suppose he would behave himself if Remus was there to keep him in line. And I can't deny I'm growing tired of his pestering. Did he seem serious when he talked to you?"

"Quite." Affirmed Efa, before asking. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just…" The witch trailed off, shaking her head slightly as her cheeks began to colour. "I don't know whether he's after me because I'm the only one who keeps saying no or if he's genuinely interested. I know he likes a good challenge, but I don't want to be a challenge to him. It sounds silly, doesn't it? I'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all this nonsense, I can't believe he's roped you into this."

"I don't mind." Efa replied quickly, before contemplating aloud. "You know, he did mention that he decided to take Muggle Studies because of you. I'm not sure what that's worth to you, though."

Her eyes widened a fraction, a flabbergasted look falling over her features.

"Is _that_ why he's been trying to incorporate bits of muggle culture into every conversation since the start of the term?" She asked aloud in incredulity. "To impress me or something?"

"Has it worked?" Efa asked curiously.

Lily only gave an exasperated laugh.

"Not unless you care about having the history of rubber ducks or the societal benefits of communal coin-operated launderette machines explained to you between your lessons."

"Rubber ducks? Really?" Asked Efa, bringing a hand to her face to stifle a giggle because she knew James was watching her closely from outside the entrance to the library. "I suppose you ought to give him credit for trying."

They shared a laugh at that, drawing a sharp glare from Madam Pince.

"Alright, I'll go." Lily conceded with a grin. "Again, I'm sorry he dragged you into this. I'll give him a good whack for you."

"Much appreciated. Make it a hard one, won't you?" Efa returned the grin, gathering her satchel and heaving it over her shoulder as she stood. "I'll let him know then?"

"Sure. See you Friday?"

"It's a date." She stated factually, giving Lily a small wave as she made her way towards an expectant looking James Potter.

Remus looked quite amused, and Efa couldn't blame him. James resembled some sort of rabid animal, as he waited for Efa to return with news. She purposefully took her time.

"Well?" Demanded James the second she had exited the library.

"You'll be calling me Efa from now on." She relayed, and the Gryffindor looked so elated that Efa feared he might do something particularly reckless. "This is the last time I play messenger for you, got it?"

But James had not heard her, he was too busy doing a happy little dance of excitement that looked quite silly.

She and Remus shared a look of amusement as Efa shifted her heavy satchel on her shoulder with a shake of her head.

"I'll see you later, Remus. Otto and I are going to watch Gwyn's quidditch practice." She said as she turned, starting down the corridor and thoroughly glad to be done with the task requested of her.

These boys would be the death of her.

.

* * *

.

"Ouch!" Exclaimed Efa, bringing her hand up to her scalp, only to have it slapped away by an exasperated Gwyn. "Oh, can't I just wear it down?"

"After I've spent the last forty-five minutes on my masterpiece? Absolutely not!" Exclaimed the auburn-haired witch. "I've almost got it…one more pin…no, better make that two…"

"Ow!" Gasped the brunette, her face scrunching at the sharp sensation. "Am I bleeding? I feel like I'm bleeding."

"You're a bleeding drama queen, that's what you are." Grumbled her friend. "You'd think I'm torturing you with all the ruckus you're causing."

The day of the party had arrived, and Efa was beginning to wish she wasn't going at all.

The two girls were situated in the dorm's bathroom for sixth and seventh year girls, with Efa sitting perched unhappily upon a wooden stool, and Gwyn leaning over her head, pinning the last few curls into place. A copy of _Witch Weekly_ lay open, propped up against the sink nozzle and the mirror and opened to the fashion section. Every few moments, Gwyn would steal a look at the model's elegant up-do before turning her attentions back to Efa's hair.

The model in the enchanted photograph winked at her, and Efa frowned back.

Their dress robes for the evening hung on hooks by the door, Gwyn's maroon coloured silk robes falling gracefully and Efa's periwinkle satin robes seeming to give the illusion of a waterfall.

This set of dress robes had cost Efa a decent sum, but she had felt they were worth it. The colour was a very light blue, the hue soft and gentle. The layered satin seemed to flow all the way to the floor, and though the neckline in the front was modest, it dipped down on the other side to expose the skin of her back.

"There!" Declared Gwyn triumphantly, after putting her final setting charm on the styled curls. "Now help me with my hair, would you? Just the back bits need to be curled and set, I'll do the rest of it myself."

The two girls switched positions, with Efa now using her wand to go through the different beauty charms she remembered. Soon enough, they'd turned their attentions to their robes, taking turns buttoning each other up.

Efa assessed the finished ensemble with wide eyes as Gwyn looked over their reflections in satisfaction.

"Now that's what I'd call a job well done!" Exclaimed Gwyn happily. "I'm so happy Otto asked me to come, you know I love a chance to dress up."

"Who else would he have asked?" Efa questioned dubiously, smoothing the layers of blue silk and still looking at her reflection in astonishment. "Marnie?"

"I'd never forgive him if he had."

Efa gave a small laugh as she continued to assess her reflection.

She still could not believe that the girl in the mirror was Efa Hathaway. The girl in the mirror did not even look like a girl any longer. She looked like a woman.

Efa supposed it was only natural. She was of age now in the wizarding world. She no longer looked like the child she had been when she had first arrived to this castle; she was leaving the awkwardness of teenage growth spurts behind to transition into the body of a grown woman. Her face was no longer round like a child's but sharper featured, and her body itself was no longer flat and gangly but womanly and soft.

She was now a legal adult in the wizarding world. She could use her magic unsupervised. She could begin a career. She could even get married.

That thought startled her, for her muggle background screamed at her that getting engaged at seventeen was far too young, though the wizarding world did not seem perturbed in the slightest at that fact.

In general, witches and wizards were forced to mature faster than their muggle counter parts.

There were many witches who got married before turning twenty, it was not unheard of. In fact, most witches tended to marry young – it was custom. There were already many young men and women in her year who had announced their engagements and would likely marry soon after graduating.

Perhaps it was because of the war, but Efa had noticed an increase in engagements announced in the Daily Prophet.

Again, only natural. There was nothing like a sense of impending doom to make people want to speed up the process.

"Are you finished staring off into space or can we get going?" Demanded Gwyn with a sly smile. "Always off in your head, you are."

"Sorry." She murmured sheepishly. "Let's go."

Otto gave an appreciative nod of them both as they descended the stairs, placing a mock kiss on his date's knuckles, which Gwyn snorted at in a very unladylike fashion.

"I'll see you two there, I'm meeting Remus and the others on the second floor by the Fat Lady." She announced, before splitting from them to make her way down a flight of moving stairs.

She slunk quickly down the corridors, passing groups of students heading to their own common rooms for the evening who looked at her curiously, unable to place who she might be. It truly was fascinating how much anonymity a lovely set of robes and a different hair style had afforded her for the evening.

Efa had a shy habit of hiding behind her hair, but she was not hiding tonight. She had still yet to decide whether she was comfortable with that fact or not, and took a moment to ponder just how outraged Gwyn would be if she took her hair down after all the time her friend had spent on it. She decided not to. It was not worth the risk.

It was James Potter who spotted her first, gaze narrowing quizzically on her satin-clad form when she rounded the corner and approached where they stood waiting. His brows raised dramatically after a few moments of scrutiny, and he lifted a finger to point at her.

"Is that the bookworm?" He raised his hand in a casual greeting, drawing their attention to her. "Never would have guessed it."

"Don't point, James. That's rude."

"I told you to call her Ef-" Remus' words died in his throat as he turned.

He stared, mouth open and wide-eyed as he took her in. Efa, who was suppressing the urge to turn and bolt at such attention, merely forced an uncomfortable smile with a flush in her cheeks as she stopped in front of him.

"You weren't waiting long, were you?" Efa asked, speaking before her anxiety could get the better of her, but Remus quickly shook his head.

"Just stepped out of the common room." He replied, now having composed himself. "Shall we?"

The group began their trek down towards the dungeons, with Remus and Efa walking behind the two in front of them. Lily and James were lost in conversation, and not any of their normal types of conversing either. It was normal that there was some sort of bickering or teasing between them, with much frustration on Lily's end, but not this evening.

Efa leaned her head closer to Remus, watching the pair in front of her as she whispered to him.

"Do you reckon that's the start of something?" She asked quietly.

"Maybe for Lily, but not for James." Admitted Remus, also lowering his voice. "He's been head over heels since first year."

"I guess what they say about schoolyard bullies is true." Efa voiced. "That the ones they bother the most are the ones they like the most."

"I didn't pick on you, though." Remus declared.

Efa paused, glancing up at his subtle declaration with owlish eyes.

"But," Remus continued quickly, albeit somewhat flustered. "If we follow that logic then it means that he and Sirius must really like _Snivell_-, sorry, I mean Severus."

"Sound logic." Surmised the witch when she found she had nothing else to say.

For some reason, the words did not flow as naturally as they normally did between the duo. Efa felt odd, almost out of place, awkward. And not in a good way. They passed the rest of the journey towards the dungeons with a bit of chatter as a group, which Efa was grateful for and she figured Remus likely was as well.

The large room where the party was being held was decorated lavishly. It was exuberant and somewhat refined, though Efa found it a bit over the top – but such were the tastes of Horace Slughorn. He had a penchant for the finer things, and he liked to let that be known, even with his choices of décor.

The room was filled with exotic looking foods and little treats passed around on silver platters. There were spirits available for those of age, and a variety of drinks for those who were not. Candles floated in the air, and Efa could hear what sounded like a string quartet, though no matter where she looked, she could not seem to find the source of the classical music.

Thick sheets of golden fabric hung from the ceiling to the floor where there were normally tall windows that looked out to the depths of the lake, but it was just was well. It was too dark to see anything in the water at that time of night.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Edmund Flint pulling a giggling Anna Goyle behind one of the banners of fabric, the two Slytherins disappearing behind the golden textile with one last sneaking look around to make sure they went unnoticed.

Efa vaguely recalled that Remus had mentioned that Flint was supposedly engaged to Maxine Parkinson, but apparently that meant very little to him.

The students were dressed in their very best, and Slughorn was certainly no exception with his violent, canary yellow dress robes that were nothing if not eye-catching. She complimented him on the colour anyways, even though the bold hue hurt her eyes if she stared at it too long.

It was not long after they had entered that her eyes fell upon Regulus Black.

Her heart gave a strange thump, and she suddenly found herself somewhat short of breath when their gazes met.

His dark grey robes were pressed, and a silver and green broach flashing his family's crest was pinned proudly on his chest, just over his heart. His wavy hair was glossy, the deep black shade highlighting pale skin.

Perhaps she imagined it, but she thought she might have seen an almost indiscernible dip of his head accompanied with the ghost of a smirk upon his lips. No – no, she hadn't imagined it.

_His lips_. She was staring at his lips, she realised then in a flustered rush. She tore her gaze away from his tall form, feeling a strange sort of heat creeping up her neck.

Her chest still felt funny even after hastily turning her back to him.

Efa took the tall and slim glass of a strange looking liquid that Remus had procured for her and took a long sip, trying to ignore the strangest of sensations inside her body.

It did not take long for James to drag a flustered looking Lily out to the space where a few pairs of students were dancing, though to both hers and Remus' immense amusement, James' version of 'dancing' consisted mostly of stepping on his partner's feet and getting scolded for it.

"I'll apologise in advance," Offered Remus sheepishly. "I'm not the best dancer. I'm afraid I'd probably be worse than James."

"Don't apologise." Returned Efa as they both winced simultaneously when James led Lily straight into a suit of armour and then began scrambling to put the pieces back together. "Poor Lily."

"Poor James too, look at him. The lad's a nervous mess." They shared a small laugh. "Do you know how to dance?"

Efa gave a small nod, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

"My _Tad_ taught me." She revealed. "Him and _Mam_ used to go out dancing all the time when they were in uni. He's a great dancer."

They watched for a bit longer, until Remus spoke again.

"You look beautiful, by the way. I forgot to mention it earlier."

Efa turned her head to meet his gaze, and found herself faced with hesitant smile, one which she awkwardly returned with a forced movement of the muscles around her mouth.

Why was this so hard? Why was she so anxious? She hadn't felt this way at all when they'd gone to Hogsmeade together.

The urge to take down her hair was there again, but she reminded herself of Gwyn's wrath and ignored it.

"Thank you, it was all Gwyn, really. You clean up nicely, yourself." Efa brushed off both the compliment and the urge to find something to hide behind self-consciously. She was so used to being unseen, and this was a far cry from it. "Where is she, anyway? She came as Otto's date."

"Is that her, in the maroon? The one taking her shoes off?"

Efa glanced to where he had nodded, taking in the sight of Gwyn, who apparently had decided that she'd had enough of her shoes and was determined to go barefoot instead. A horrified looking Otto stood next to her as she pulled off the strappy heels, looking as if he was trying to reason with her to keep them on.

Knowing Gwyn, however, it was already a lost battle. Once she made up her mind about something, there was nothing that would deter her. Not even one of Otto Kaiser's lectures about proper etiquette for a young lady – and it looked like that was what she was currently on the receiving end of.

"Yeah, that's her." Laughed Efa as she watched them argue about the shoes. "I told her not to wear that pair…"

The evening wore on, much more slowly than Efa had anticipated. She felt much more at ease when Otto and Gwyn finally made their way to where she stood with the group of Gryffindor students. The feeling of being the odd one out of their group was one that was eased by the presence of her two friends.

As time continued to tick by, as conversation was made, and as blundering attempts at dancing were embarked on, she could not help how her gaze continued to drift to one young man on the other side of the great chamber.

And it was not the young man she had come with that evening.

.

* * *

.

From the moment Regulus Black had entered the massive and garishly decorated dungeon chamber and bid his pleasantries to Professor Slughorn, his eyes had begun to flit quickly around the other party-goers, searching for the witch with the wild curls and eyes with flecks of gold.

But she had yet to arrive.

He was without a date for the evening, though that was to be expected. Most of the sixth and seventh year girls in his house were either engaged or not deemed an appropriate match for him by his mother, and it would not have been appropriate to ask one of them.

Many of those girls had been engaged since childhood, promised to other families in marriage as a way to strengthen ties and alliances in the complicated politics that surrounded the inner circle of pure-blooded families. The young men of his social circle had a bit more freedom in that aspect, for even if they were engaged, it was not expected of the men to be faithful – not before marriage and not after.

It was just the way things were. Most pure-blood men had strings of mistresses and lovers, some even had bastard children they continually spirited funds away to. A pureblood wife or fiancée, however, had no such liberties.

Regulus was sure that the infidelity within his own family was part of the reason his mother teetered on the edge of insanity. Orion Black had never shown much care for his wife, at least not that Regulus had ever witnessed.

For a brief moment, he wondered if his own marriage would end up as cold and loveless as that of his parents. He hoped not, though he knew better than to hope for what was unlikely to come. None in his circle married for love, only for alliances and for the sake of maintaining purity.

There were exceptions, he supposed. Lucius and his cousin Narcissa seemed to be getting on well enough, though the fondness they shared for each other had still developed within the confines of an arranged match where neither of them had any say in the matter.

They were lucky, to have found what they did in each other.

The majority of marriages he had seen were more like that of Bellatrix and Rodolphus, who kept separate quarters in the Lestrange Manor and had no warm sentiments to express towards one another.

It was only a matter of time until his mother found someone for him. He was aware she was actively looking, and the thought was a tiring one to entertain. He'd known it would happen eventually, as he was the last male of his line and would likely be made to marry young to produce as many heirs as possible.

Without heirs a family could not continue, and with a war raging, many were marrying and having children as fast as they could, in order to solidify inheritance and ensure the survival of ancient bloodlines. It would no doubt be expected of him as well. He suppressed a grimace at the thought of it.

But he could not help and wonder what it might feel like to have a say in the matter, to have the freedom to choose for himself who he would share the rest of his life in matrimony with or the freedom to choose if or when he had children. He'd never even been asked if he wanted children, or what kind of person he might like to marry. It was assumed, and it was duty.

What would he choose, if he could?

_But you can't choose, can you? You'll never be free to choose. _

That thought startled him, the small action bringing the reality of his situation back to him. It was not often he allowed himself to express contempt in such a fashion.

It was unwise to entertain such ideas. It only led to frustration and tears in the end. It was better just to accept the path he had been born to walk, the path his parents had paved for him without asking his consent.

He steeled himself once more, burying any wayward thoughts from a traitorous heart deep within himself. He chalked it up to still feeling slightly rattled at what Evan Rosier had admitted to him, and steeled himself once more. He could not afford to indulge in such thoughts. He had a duty, and he would see it done.

It was then, as he shook himself out of his inner reverie, that his eyes spied her.

A moment passed before he recognised her, and he blinked twice as he took her image in.

Was that truly Efa Hathaway? No, it had to be someone else…and yet, he knew it was her from the mild expression and far-away look in those doe-like eyes of hers that hinted she wasn't really listening to the person who was talking to her, but lost in thought.

He wondered what she might be thinking about. Her mind always continued to surprise him.

The girl was dressed in light blue, with her hair twisted into a loose knot of curls at the back of her head, thoroughly tamed for the evening and allowing for the viewing of defined and feminine features, a slender neck, and the hint of a collarbone that peeked out from the neckline of her robes.

It was strange to see her with her hair pulled back, and how different an impression it gave him. He could see all the features her thick curls usually covered, and he had no complaints of the view he was now being treated to.

Perhaps he had not truly realised it before, but the girl was lovely in her own way – not in the regal and aristocratic image that many pureblood families carried in their traits, but in a humble and raw sort of way that one might not catch at first glance. He was catching it now, though.

It was at that moment that Regulus noticed the hand that rested comfortably on the exposed skin of her back, and the young man who was guiding her in to the large, underground chamber where the festivities were being held.

He felt his gaze narrow at seeing Remus Lupin, one of his brother's little _friends_, and the way he so carelessly let his hand glide down that exposed skin.

She'd come with a date then. Regulus was unsure as to why that surprised him as much as it did. For some reason, that information seemed to eat at him, and did not settle well in his mind. It made him feel slightly restless.

Her eyes found his after a few moments, and he dipped his head, allowing the smallest hint of a lopsided twitch of the lips to show on his features before she turned abruptly from him, seemingly startled at his greeting. The Gryffindor at her side glanced his way after spying her reaction, stepping closer to her in a slow, deliberate movement before breaking eye contact with the Slytherin.

Regulus frowned and tore his gaze from them, grabbing a drink and turning back to the young man he had been conversing with before she had arrived. He did not care to see the way that the blood-traitor rested his hand on her skin like that any longer.

"Here, Black." Whispered Nott, glancing around before slipping a silver-plated flask from the folds of his robes. "I've got something a bit _stronger_."

Normally, he might have refrained. Regulus was not one to go ahead with such things. After the many evenings his father had imbibed and turned his violent attentions to his wife and children on nights when he'd had too much, it became hard to sip on spirits without those memories surfacing. Though tonight Regulus felt he could use it.

Perhaps it would help him forget the strange feeling he had experienced at seeing the way that filthy blood traitor had his hands all over his-

He stopped his train of thought abruptly.

Just what was she to him? He wasn't sure there was a word for it.

They were, of course, more than just school mates and prefect partners. She seemed to think they were friends, and he had not put a stop to her fanciful idea – he found he had not wanted to. He supposed that their time spent together was not unpleasant; It was often he felt as though his burdens and stresses were non-existent when they spoke, and she had a knack for bringing a peaceful air wherever she went.

Regulus would be a liar if he tried to say he did not enjoy her company or their conversations.

There was also the fact that he was actively trying to gain her trust so that he might eventually recruit her towards the Dark Lord's ranks…but there wasn't really a word that summed all those factors up.

Still, he did not like the way the other young man was touching her, as if she somehow _belonged_ to the Gryffindor boy. She didn't belong to anyone, and certainly not that ridiculous excuse for a wizard who hung around his disgraced brother.

_That blundering fool isn't even worthy enough to clean her shoes._

"Thank you." He muttered moodily as he took the offered flask and poured a decent portion into his drink.

"Rough start to the evening?" Nott asked curiously as Regulus returned his flask to him significantly lighter.

"I suppose."

"It's no fun without a date. I was going to ask Hania Khan, but her engagement to Yaxley is set to be announced next week, the lucky bastard. That girl's a solid ten."

He allowed himself to be pulled into the small distraction the conversation offered, attempting to forget what he had seen, and the strange feelings that had begun to crawl to the surface as a result.

"Khan and Yaxley?" Regulus asked, allowing a note of surprise to linger on his tongue. "I thought her mother was keen on sending her back to Pakistan to marry the Minister's son there."

"That's what we all thought." Nott sighed, taking a long and unhappy swig. "But her parents have decided to stay in England to support…_certain parties_. I'll bet they're trying to get closer to the inner-circles with this marriage, and I don't blame them. I'm just disappointed her father chose Yaxley."

"Their bloodline is older." Regulus pointed out coolly, and Nott scowled at him.

"Yes, but my family has nearly twice the size of their fortune, _and_ three estates." Grumbled the jaded pureblood.

"You can't buy status, Nott." Reminded Regulus.

"Shove it, Black." Andrew Nott sighed in defeat, before his attention was caught elsewhere. "I haven't got any luck. My mother's had to start looking on the Continent for a match, all the good ones here are already taken. Apparently, she's got some Belgian heiress in mind."

"The Dubois heiress?"

"That's the one."

"A decent match." Regulus allowed, though he did not envy his fellow housemate in the slightest. That girl had the personality of a boar that not even her pretty features could make up for.

"Has your mother mentioned any potentials for you?" Nott pried.

Regulus only vaguely registered his speech as he watched the Gryffindor prefect lead Efa out to the dance floor. The man had a sloppy form, he noted with vindictive pleasure. He didn't really seem to know what he was doing.

That made him feel slightly better.

"Not yet, though I expect it won't be long." He muttered distractedly, still watching the two of them bumble awkwardly across the dance floor.

The great oaf had stepped on her hem again, and Regulus nearly rolled his eyes. He really ought to show him how it's done. That was certainly not how one held or guided a lady on the dance floor.

He took a long sip from his glass, feeling a bit warmer now.

Nott continued to talk, but Regulus paid him little mind as he continued to watch Efa as she declined another dance with her date.

Severus joined them not long after, though he found that even an intellectual discussion about Potions and the Dark Arts, topics that he and Severus often enjoyed discussing together, did not really seem to hold his attention in the same way that he girl in the blue robes did.

He watched her as shared her next dance with the Kaiser heir, floating gracefully in a waltz. He watched as she spoke softly with her friend, the Roberts girl. He watched as she smiled at something Lily Evans said, and then as she laughed at whatever snide statement the Kaiser heir had just made.

He watched, transfixed, stealing many glances as the night wore on.

The only positive thing that came from that evening, he would note later with great pleasure, was that for as many times as he stole a glance towards her, she had also stolen glances at him.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N - Ramadan Mubarak to anyone who's celebrating! May your fasts be accepted and your rewards multiplied! Honestly it's my favourite time of year :)**

**Hope you guys are all doing well and staying safe. I've got better wifi connections now, so I'll be able to respond to reviews again soon and upload more frequently. Thank you all for your patience and thank you for the kind words in your reviews. **

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The Ravenclaw dormitory and common room held a certain festive air of excitement to it as the sixth and seventh year girls packed up the last of their things and began to charm their trunks down the stairs.

Everyone Efa knew was going home, not a single student staying behind for the holidays, and it seemed that each boy and girl was looking forward to their well-deserved break from their studies.

Homemade Yule decorations were hanging from the ceiling, the cut-out paper snowflakes enchanted to change their shapes and patterns on their own. Professor Flitwick had even joined them the evening that Efa and David Kim had led the craft-making session with the younger students; though many of the older students had joined in as well, unable to resist the mugs of hot chocolate, snacks, and merry atmosphere. There was so little merriment to be found these days, so she couldn't blame anyone who seized it where they found it.

Downstairs in the common room, the wizarding radio was turned up to a loud volume, and Efa could hear the happy carols all the way from her spot at the end of her bed in the girl's dormitory. She didn't ask them to lower the volume this time, she just didn't have the heart.

They all deserved a bit of happiness and relaxation after such a stressful term, and she felt she had no business taking that away from them. And besides, classes were over, and they would all be departing the castle in an hour or so, so it wasn't as if a little music was going to distract anybody.

Efa closed the top of her trunk after placing her last book inside, sliding the latch shut with a smile. Giving her wand a quick flick before stowing it back in her robes, she began down the stairs with the trunk following behind her.

"Hathaway!" Called Antonius Bennet as soon as he had spied her. He rushed towards her with much hustle and bustle, fat cheeks pink and happy. "Professor Flitwick has requested your presence in his office for the end of term Prefect's assessment. You'll be happy to know we exceeded expectations this year. Though that's to be expected. Have I told you yet of my family's Christmas plans? We're to spend it in the Swiss Alps at one of the most luxurious resorts for-"

"Oh, that sounds lovely." Replied Efa quickly, knowing that if she did not cut him off now, it would be at least an hour before she made it to Flitwick's office, and she simply did not have that time. "You really must send me a postcard. I'll see you after the holidays!"

"What's a postcard?"

She had already turned, however, slipping away before he could drag her further into an unwanted conversation.

Professor Flitwick's office was not far from the common room's entrance at all, and she was knocking upon his door in little to no time.

"Enter!" Came the squeaky voice from within, and Efa ducked down into the office as soon as she was given her permission.

Professor Flitwick's office was quite cosy, and decorated to the expectation of any Ravenclaw. It was neat and orderly, and the office walls were lined with bookshelves that were packed with a particularly large and impressive collection of books. There were so many books, in fact, that there was no wall space visible at all – only books and scrolls and stacks of parchment, all organised by subject matter and author names.

Professor Flitwick was, by far, one of the kindest staff members at the school in Efa's opinion. He was seemingly always happy; and the jolly little man had his door open for any of her housemates who had a problem.

He was wholly devoted to his teaching career, and his classes were enjoyable. All in all, Efa felt that Ravenclaw House had the best head of house by far. In her opinion, none could compete with the small, yet powerful, Charms Master.

"Come in, come in!" He called to her, and she complied, taking a seat in the chair opposite his desk and returning the warm smile he gave her. "How do you fare, my dear?"

"Very well, professor. My father sent you his regards in his last letter." She informed him, to which he gave a large smile at hearing.

The two men had gotten on quite well in the many times that Flitwick had visited their home in the summer leading up to Efa's first year. That is, after her father had finally come to terms that a magical world actually existed.

He had needed much convincing, and had grilled the elderly professor on just about any detail one could think of. It had required many, many visits to their small home in Cardiff, but Professor Flitwick had been extremely kind and patient, explaining every question in much detail until her father was both convinced and appeased enough to agree to send his daughter off with the Charms professor when the time to buy her school things had come.

Efa imagined that the Headmaster had chosen McGonagall and Flitwick to be the ones to break the news to muggle families for that reason precisely. The situations were rather sensitive and delicate, and those two were the best at handling and navigating such instances, rare as they were.

"You must send him mine as well! Dear old chap, I really must send him a letter over the holiday. You're still living in Cardiff, yes?"

"Yes sir."

"Splendid." He smiled, interlacing his fingers atop his desk as he leaned forward. "Now, Miss Hathaway, I'm sure Mr. Bennet has already informed you that you both did well. I have very little to critique you on that end. I wish to speak with you regarding another matter."

"Sir?"

"I would also stress that this is somewhat of a…_delicate_ subject. I must ask that this conversation remain confidential."

Efa's brows knit together as she gave him a nod to continue, silently ensuring him that he would have her secrecy in the matter.

The professor went silent for a moment, taking a small breath and studying her intently, as though searching her features for something hidden. After a moment of the scrutiny, he continued.

"Professor Sunal has spoken with the Headmaster regarding your performance in his class. The Headmaster was quite pleased to hear of it and has asked me my opinion on a certain matter. I of course told him that you were one of my best students."

"Thank you, Professor." Efa replied keenly. She was terribly gratified to hear the praise.

"The Headmaster has an offer for you, though the choice is yours to make." At this his expression seemed to sober, and Efa frowned at the grave look his features now conveyed. "Before I tell you of the offer, you must know that it is not for the faint of heart. It is, undoubtedly, a great honour and opportunity, but it does not come without a price. If you do not wish to be involved in such a task, then you may leave now and I shall not trouble you with this subject again."

Efa blinked rapidly, contemplating the words.

How could she say no, especially if the offer was coming from the Headmaster himself, who had complimented her hard efforts in her studies? Perhaps her mind was clouded in the high that the praise had given her, but she was hooked – ravenous to know how else she might prove her worth.

A great honour and opportunity extended to a muggle-born witch? How could she turn such an offer down?

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realised that if she were ever to name an Achille's Heel of her own, pride and an ongoing and somewhat obsessive struggle to prove herself worthy of the magic in her veins was most certainly hers. Perhaps it would even be her downfall. Either way, it was what motivated her to hear the professor out.

"Please, tell me."

Professor Flitwick gave a solemn nod, seeming to have expected her answer. He seemed terribly saddened by how eagerly she had jumped at idea, but the flash of melancholy was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a dutiful and benign smile.

"I'm sure that you have come across the research and story of Nicolas Flamel, yes?"

"Of course." She replied instantaneously. "He's a legend. The only person to have discovered the secret of immortality before he vanished. He's been missing for decades though, hasn't he?"

Professor Flitwick gave another nod, confirming her information before adding to it.

"Remember that you are not to share this information with anyone." He reminded sternly, before continuing. "Mr. Flamel is very much alive and well. He went into hiding after Grindelwald's war."

"Hiding? But why?" Efa balked, attempting to swallow the information in one go.

"I would assume that his reasoning to stay hidden had much to do with the fear of losing his research to a wizard of darker persuasions." Flitwick contemplated aloud. "There is no doubt that his research could be dangerous in the wrong hands."

The gears inside her head were turning, but no matter what angle she played, she could not seem to draw a conclusion as to why she was being told this information.

"Why are you telling me this, sir?" She finally spoke plainly, deciding not to beat around the bush.

Flitwick's lips quirked at the bluntness of the query.

"Because, my dear, Flamel desires to take an apprentice and has asked the Headmaster to keep an eye out for promising students. He is prepared to offer your name to Flamel based off both mine and Professor Sunal's recommendation. You are the only student to show such proficiency in the subject in quite a long time."

Efa openly gaped then, as she processed the idea.

"But…why _now?"_

"We live in grave times." His face fell a bit, but he continued anyway. "Both Flamel and Professor Dumbledore agree that Flamel's research must be preserved and his successor chosen. The Headmaster wishes to choose somebody young, somebody within the castle that can be protected while they learn."

All at once, the pieces clicked together. Efa could read between the lines clearly.

They wanted to choose an apprentice that they could exercise control over, one who they could be assured would not turn away from them after obtaining powerful knowledge.

They wanted somebody they could mould, and Efa supposed that made perfect sense. Choosing somebody outside the castle meant that they could not protect them or monitor their interactions. To be inside the castle meant that someone was relatively safer than outside of it, especially during this war.

But there was something else that stood out to her the most.

"Is he dying?" She asked quietly.

"No." Responded Flitwick. "But it seems that he and his wife wish to begin to plan for their _retirement_. I suppose that when one has lived as long as Flamel, that it is only natural to long to reunite with the many loved ones they have outlived. I believe they have grown weary of this world, as well as living their lives hidden away from it."

"So, he doesn't plan to be around much longer, but wants to pass down his knowledge before he goes?"

"Precisely."

"And the Headmaster thinks I'm the person for the job?"

At this, Flitwick offered another warm smile.

"He has faith in you, as do I."

Efa slumped slightly, exhaling a long breath as the information truly began to sink in. Flitwick, who was much attuned to the emotional statuses of his pupils, reached down and procured a tin of tea biscuits, sliding them in front of Efa.

She reached for one quietly, already deep inside her mind as she began making her mental lists. Pros and cons, lists, advantages and disadvantages – she weighed them carefully.

"It'll be dangerous." She stated rather than asked, for that much she could easily surmise on her own.

"Yes." He agreed. "The knowledge that Flamel's apprentice will inherit is undoubtedly coveted by many. But you will learn within the safety of the castle after you have spent a summer with Flamel. You will be under the best protection available to you – that of Albus Dumbledore himself."

"And after I graduate?" She asked. "I can't stay in the castle forever."

"The Headmaster has his plans, and though he has not shared them with me, it is clear he intends to make sure that your status as Flamel's successor is well protected until the time that it is considered safe."

"After the war, you mean?"

"Yes, Miss Hathaway. After the war."

Efa still didn't know what their world might look like after the war, or if she would still be alive to see it. And if she was alive, if she would still be welcome in it.

The war had seemed so far away from her thus far. Her academic years were spent in the safety of the castle, and her summers away from the wizarding world and the darkness or war. Until now, she had never considered she might have a role to play in the fight.

It was a sobering thought.

She nodded, taking another bite of the biscuit she was twiddling between her fingers. She had a feeling that his tin of 'special biscuits' that he reserved for times when students came to him upset was laced with some sort of calming draught, because she was feeling quite rational in the moment, not the least bit apprehensive.

"Professor…" She trailed off, looking back up to meet his gaze. "Do you think we can win? The war, that is? If we were to lose the war, then being the keeper of this information would be a liability for me."

To her surprise, he only smiled serenely to her once more, speaking so calmly that she felt her worries being eased.

"Miss Hathaway, the moment we stop believing we can win is the moment that we have lost. So long as we believe in a coming victory, we cannot be defeated by the Darkness." He stated, so sure of his own words that Efa could only nod along, as though he had stated a fact and not his opinion. "However, we all have to do our parts to make that happen."

"Learning from Flamel and inheriting his knowledge – that's my part? Will it actually make any difference?" Efa asked quietly.

"The Headmaster would not have extended this path to you if it was not for the benefit of the war efforts. It is about the inheritance of knowledge, yes, but this decision of yours also transcends what you think you may know. It is imperative that this knowledge is both passed down and kept well protected."

"And it will be best protected in the castle?"

"For now." He gave a slow dip of his head.

It was all coming together now in her mind, all the pieces finally clicking together to show the greater picture.

If she agreed, she would be a vessel of knowledge, one that would need to be kept out of reach from those who sought to use it for evil until that evil was defeated. And what better place to protect that knowledge than within the confines of the castle, the one place the Dark Lord himself could not reach.

If she said yes, she would be placing herself directly into the midst of the battle, and she was not sure she had the bravery for that.

Bravery was for Gryffindors, and Efa was not keen to fight.

"My father." She blurted suddenly, as she remembered that her decision would ultimately affect him as well. "Can his safety be completely ensured if I agree?"

"The Headmaster will personally see to it himself."

She twiddled with her thumbs some more, beginning to feel unsure and slightly nervous despite the effects of the biscuit.

Efa bit her lip, nervous habit unable to be subdued.

"May I have some time to think on it?" She asked hesitantly, to which Flitwick immediately responded.

"Of course, of course. You may take all the time you need. It is not a decision to be made lightly." He stated. "But remember, you must not tell a soul of what we have discussed here. That is imperative."

"I understand, sir."

"Very good, very good." He capped the tin and stowed it away. "Whatever you choose, I will still be immensely proud to have been your head of house here. Happy holidays, Miss Hathaway."

"Happy Holidays, Professor."

Efa stood, as she returned the greeting, mind already debating on the subject.

It was no sooner than the words left her mouth, however, that Aditya Chaudhry burst through the door of Professor Flitwick's office, doubled over and panting for breath.

"Mr. Chaudhry, what is the matter-" Began Flitwick, only to be interrupted with a grave message.

"It's Mary MacDonald, sir." He rasped between heaving breaths. "We found her body at the bottom of the Divination Tower! They said she jumped!"

.

* * *

.

"I'm telling you, it's foul play, it has to be." Declared Gwyn angrily from within their compartment on the Hogwarts express. "I don't believe a word of that flimsy excuse."

Nor did Efa.

Mary MacDonald was a vivacious girl, one who embodied the true nature of bold Gryffindor spirit. She always had a smile on her face, and liked to live life to the fullest. She was loud and rambunctious, and always looked to be having a good time wherever she went.

So why would she throw herself from a window many stories above the ground? And just who had seen her jump? There was something missing, she was sure of it.

Otto scowled out the window, where beautiful snow-capped highland mountains and hills passed rapidly as the train reached peak momentum.

Efa had already received and shared Professor Flitwick's owl to his two prefects, which had stated that Mary was still alive and being transported to St. Mungo's for intensive care. The letter had not, however, revealed if any foul play was suspected.

"Professor Flitwick didn't say whether it was or not, we can't know for sure." Efa stated grimly as Otto huffed quietly to himself but remained in his brooding silence.

"Oh, come off it." Exclaimed their auburn-haired companion. "Do you really think somebody like Mary MacDonald is likely to throw herself from the top of the tower? I don't buy it. What do you two think?"

"I think we all know what this is." Grumbled Otto unhappily, still with a gaze fixed stubbornly on the snowy mountains in the distance. "But nobody is willing to admit it yet. It would mean the school is no longer safe if it's true."

"An attack then?" Demanded Gwyn. "What do you think, Efa? Did Aditya say who saw her jump?"

"He said there were two Slytherin boys there when he and Marnie arrived, and _they_ said she jumped." Efa sighed.

"Likely story, when Slytherin is involved." Gwyn spat. "They're all devil spawns, the lot of them."

"No they aren't." Efa argued tiredly. "We shouldn't follow stereotypes. We still don't know the whole story."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot you're chummy with their lot these days." She spat.

Otto gave her a look of disapproval as Efa stood, suddenly feeling exhausted with the whole situation. She simply did not have the strength to argue with her friend.

Gwyn backtracked immediately when Efa rose and began to head towards the door of their compartment without a word.

"Efa, wait, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." Gwyn tried with a sigh. "I'm just frightened…Please don't go."

"It's okay, I know. I'm frightened too." She acknowledged with a slow exhale. "I think I just need a little air. This is all a bit much."

And it truly was. Between the evidence amounting to the fact that Mary had been attacked with dark magic and the opportunity that Flitwick and Dumbledore had presented her, she was feeling overwhelmed.

Gwyn let her go with a frown, and she could already hear the argument forming between her two friends as she slid the compartment door shut and took a turn about the train.

If she was correct, there was a small viewing room with a large window in this train car, and that was where she decided it would be best to clear her head.

She walked past many open and closed compartments, not noticing the set of grey eyes that trailed on her form when she walked past one compartment filled with Slytherin sixth and seventh-years speaking in hushed tones.

Once she had entered the viewing room, she slumped to the floor, kicking her legs out in front of her and putting her back up against the wall as she watched the scenic views of the snowy highlands and grey clouds passing by the large glass window in the otherwise empty room.

She closed her eyes for a moment, centring her breathing and listening to the rhythmic chugging of the steam operated pistons beneath the floor she sat on.

The time passed slowly, much too slowly for her comfort.

The door to the compartment slid open after a few minutes of meditative silence, and she cracked her eyes when she heard it, but closed them again once she saw that it was only Regulus.

"Hullo, Regulus." She greeted quietly, having a hard time making her voice heard.

"Efa." He acknowledged. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"Just thinking." She responded, her eyes still closed. "Needed a bit of peace and quiet."

"Would you like me to leave you?" He asked, but she only shook her head.

"You can join if you'd like, though I'm not sure I'll be the best company."

He did not respond, but she listened to his footsteps approach, and then to the rustling of his robes as he took a seat on the floor next to her. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body in the cold viewing room.

They stayed like that for some time before he spoke again.

"What's bothering you?" Regulus asked, his deep voice brushing softly against her ears.

Efa opened her eyes then, allowing her gaze to flit around the scenery that was beginning to get flatter and less mountainous, and then to Regulus' face.

"What happened with Mary is troubling me. We're supposed to be safe in the castle."

"You don't think it was an accident then?" He guessed.

"Do you?" She asked dubiously.

"No."

Another few beats of silence before he continued.

"I know that's not all of it, but you don't have to tell me if you don't wish to discuss it."

Efa's shoulders sank.

"There's a decision of sorts that I've got to make." She relayed. "A big one."

"What is the decision? Perhaps I can help."

She smiled softly at the kindness, and felt disappointed she could not share her woes with him. She had a feeling he would give decent advice.

"I can't say much about it, but it'll change a lot of things." She said, revealing nothing more on the matter.

"I see." Regulus replied quietly. "I believe I can relate to that sensation as well. You have my sympathies, it isn't easy."

For a moment Efa contemplated asking about what decision he might be facing, but decided against it. He had not pried into hers, so she would afford him the same respect.

"I'm just starting to feel worn out. And I'm not sure it's even worth it, if any of it will amount to anything in the end. I don't even know what's at the end." She stated cryptically, though he nodded along in understanding, seeming to get where she was coming from despite the fact that she had not discussed anything of importance with him.

For some reason, she felt as though he truly understood her struggle without having to describe it to him. Perhaps he was facing something similar.

"I'm tired, Regulus."

"Then sleep." He suggested quietly. "You can lean on me. I'll wake you when we get closer to King's Cross."

"You don't mind?" She asked as her eyes fluttered shut.

She positioned her head on his shoulder, and from the moment her head had rested there, the drowsiness increased tenfold.

"Not at all. Just don't drool."

She gave a soft laugh, leaning slightly into his warmth in an exhausted daze.

In little to no time at all, she had drifted off, feeling warm and listening to the soft rhythm of Regulus' breathing combined with the rotating pistons of the train as it pushed southward to their destination.

.

* * *

.

She awoke to the sound of a shrill whistle.

Efa blinked until her vision cleared, and it was then that she noticed that the train had stopped moving. From the window, she could see that they had pulled in to the station at King's Cross.

It was also then that she became aware of a heavy pressure that sandwiched either side of her head, with one side still resting on Regulus' shoulder and the other a heavy and warm sensation.

Regulus had also dozed off, and had let his head rest atop hers.

Her neck ached as she shifted and sat up, causing Regulus to startle and awaken as well. He blinked at her drearily, looking slightly confused before realisation dawned in his silver gaze.

"I apologise, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's alright." She mumbled sleepily as she wiped at her eyes and pulled herself to her feet. Regulus followed suit as well, smoothing his robes and concealing a yawn. "The whistle woke me, I think the train's just pulled in."

"Efa." He started, and she turned to him, dusting off her own robes and running her fingers through her curls. "I want to write to you over break if you'll allow it."

"That sounds nice." She agreed after a moment, and found she truly meant it. "Just remember to send Mabon first since we don't have an owl, I'll send my replies back with him."

"Of course." He nodded, looking pleased she had agreed.

"Happy holidays, Regulus." She gave a warm smile, and to her surprise, the corners of his lips turned up as well, if only slightly.

Not a smirk, not a haughty grin, but a true smile – even if it was nearly indiscernible.

"Happy holidays, Efa."

And with that image of his slight smile ingrained in her mind, she turned, making her way to the exit and stepping down onto the platform where other students were also filtering out on.

Many mothers, fathers, and siblings were there, waiting for their family members to step off the train. Efa saw many long embraces between students and doting parents, and she couldn't help but wish her own father could be there waiting for her.

She had written to him ahead of time, though, to let him know she would be apparating home. And it was not as if he could be granted access to this platform – there were so many anti-muggle wards and protection charms in place that it would have been impossible.

She gathered her trunk after reuniting briefly with Gwyn, the two girls pretending like they did not know Otto for the sake of appearances. Six years of friendship and his parents had still yet to find out the three of them were thick as thieves.

She said a brief 'hello' to Remus' parents, who were always happy to see her, and she also saw David Kim's father, who had tried his best to blend in with muggle clothing, but had once again failed. Jun-Eun Kim was wearing what looked to be a ski-suit with a tartan kilt on top, much to her amusement.

David caught her bemused gaze, shrugged his shoulders, and rolled his eyes.

After saying the last of her goodbye's she spied Regulus, who toted his trunk and owl up to a severe looking woman with the same wavy black hair as him. She looked exactly like the boggart version had, cold and radiating disapproval of everything within a ten-metre radius of her.

They did not hug, and they hardly spoke before Regulus began to trail after her. It made her sad to see, and she wondered what a home with such a mother must be like. She hoped, at the very least, that his break would not be too stressful, because neither mother or son had looked extremely happy.

She waited a moment longer, noting that she was one of the last few people on the platform as her thoughts drifted to her father and the warm and loving home she would be returning to. After a few moments, she left as well, making her way out of King's Cross and searching for a place she could safely apparate from without drawing attention to herself. That spot was found in the stall of a dingy bathroom.

Her grip tightened on her luggage as she closed her eyes and began to focus.

_Cardiff. Her father. Their little home on Southeys Street. Ivy on the side of the walls they shared with neighbours. Books piled around the house because the shelves were full. Two cuppas steaming on the rickety wooden kitchen table. Her favourite dishes simmering. The salty scent of the ocean filtering through the cracked window in her bedroom. A picture of her mother on the mantle of the fireplace._

She pictured it clearly on her mind, concentrating her magic like the apparition instructors had taught her to do. She felt the focused magic building up inside her, beginning to tug at her body.

Efa let it take her, trusting in her capability and the odd pulling sensation near her navel.

A loud crack resulted, the travel happening quicker than lightning striking the ground in a summer rain storm. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in her kitchen - and thankfully with all her body parts still attached.

Her father was there, and there was what looked like stew splattered all over the floor, the remnants of the food still steaming from the ground. He stared at her with eyes wider than she had ever seen, as though he had seen a ghost.

She put two and two together quickly.

"Sorry, _Tad." _She mumbled sheepishly. "I forgot to tell you it was loud, didn't mean to give you a fright."

He came to his senses then, blinking quickly before a large grin overtook his face.

"Never mind that, come here!"

She left her trunk where she had landed, rushing into her father's outstretched arms. The embrace was crushing, and he held her so tightly it became difficult to breath. She relaxed into the hug, closing her eyes and breathing in her father's scent, one that she had missed.

Dusty books, his preferred shaving cream, and earl grey.

He released her, holding his daughter back at arm's length to assess her.

"Blimey, you've grown. Look at you, you look like a proper lady!" He crowed in delight. "You about scared me half to death, though. Give your old man a heads up next time!"

Efa laughed, glancing down towards what looked like lamb and leek stew scattered all over the ground.

"Sorry!" She giggled. "Was that dinner? Oh, it wasn't _cawl _was it?"

"Well, it _was_ before you gave me a heart attack." He huffed, and Efa did feel terribly guilty. The traditional Welsh stew took hours to make and was one of her favourites. "I'll go get the mop."

"Oh wait! I can do it now that I'm of age." She informed him proudly, taking a step back and pulling her wand from her school robes. "I'll do it."

"Alright then, let's see what they're teaching you. Go on, give your _Tad _a show." He encouraged, taking a step back as well and crossing his arms.

It would be, she realised, the first time he had ever seen her perform magic. Now that she was legal, she could show him the things he had only ever heard her describe. Any practicing she had ever done had always been within the confines of her bedroom and away from the eyes of her father.

She cleared her throat, sharing a grin with her father before she pointed her wand towards the mess on the floor.

"_Tergeo."_

The liquid and chunks of the stew began to siphon away into thin air, leaving a spotless looking floor behind her. But she wasn't done. She pointed her wand at the pile of dishes in the sink next, giving it a flick and pronouncing another incantation.

"_Scourgify."_

She cast another few cleaning charms, and before her father knew it, the dishes were washing themselves and the mop streaked in lazy circles around the wooden floors of their kitchen. The pots floated in the air as the sponge scrubbed at them with the help of her charms, and a cleaning rag moved of its own accord over the surfaces of the counters.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Her father breathed in astonishment. "Alright, you're in charge of cleaning from now on." He declared with a breathless laugh of wonder as he watched the kitchen magically clean itself spotless.

Efa laughed along with him.

"How about this-" He declared after a few more minutes of wide-eyed wonder. "You go get changed and I'll take you to the new restaurant by the library. Then we can go sit by the channel and watch the ships go by. Deal?"

"Deal!" Efa agreed with a grin before loping up the stairs to her room to and charming her trunk to follow her.

Her father gaped and laughed some more as the trunk floated through the living room and up the stairs after her, and she found that it was a sound that she had sorely missed.

It was good to be home.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N - This chapter is dedicated to whoever left me that guest review (you know who you are). It was so sweet, and made me so happy to see! I edited and published this chapter early because of it!**

**Alright guys, we're gearing up towards some dark stuff getting ready to take place next chapter. Your thoughts and feedback are much appreciated, and I'll make sure to add warnings at the beginning of any chapters containing sensitive material from now on, so look for the author's note at the beginning of each chapter to see if there's anything that could be potentially triggering to you. I'll do my best to provide sufficient warning. It won't be anything horrible or anything too obscene - I do NOT write things like sexual assault, gore, or very explicit violence - but I do recognise that some content and allusions to certain content can be distressing for some, so please check the A/N.**

**Thank you!**

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Regulus Black sat stiffly atop one of the tall chairs at a ridiculously long dining table, knowing better than to lean back into the plush fabric of the upholstered cushion that matched the rest of the lavish set that surrounded the table.

Luxury, contrary to what most might assume, was not nearly as comfortable as it looked.

He had always wondered why his mother spent so much time and effort in the upholstery and maintenance of these chairs when one was not allowed to lean back and enjoy the comfort. It was, as it had been expressed to him on many occasions, impolite to slump. It was far more dignified to sit up straight, or so it was said.

So, he sat properly, his back stiff as a rod and painfully upright as his mother took the tea that Kreacher poured lovingly for her.

His own meal was only half-eaten, his tea growing cold. They had only just arrived to the familial home, and he remembered feeling peckish aboard the train, but that appetite had mysteriously vanished. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he found that his tea seemed to cool quicker than he could drink it in Grimmauld Place. He realised, of course, that it was a silly thought.

The small noise of delicately colliding china that the tea cup made as his mother set it down on her saucer seemed to echo in the grand dining hall that sat just the two of them. The dining room had always seemed smaller when he was younger, when the table had been full and conversation flowing.

His father, as Kreacher had informed him, had not been home in over a month. His mother had also mentioned that his health continued to decline and that he was spending his time in warmer weather.

Warmer weather in France, most like. Where a pretty little mistress half Walburga's age received gifts of jewels and monetary sums.

Regulus did not mention that thought. In fact, they were getting on quite well in pretending that Orion Black simply did not exist. The topic was a sore one for his mother.

"Horace mentions you are excelling in your studies." His mother finally voiced coolly, though she did not look at him. "As expected."

"Yes." He replied simply. There was little he had to add.

"He also writes you have invited him to our soiree on the twenty-fifth?" She questioned, lifting the teacup delicately to her pursed lips as she sought information.

"I needed access to the restricted section." He explained quietly, taking a bite of his meal and taking care not to grimace at the cold temperature of his food. "For the extra-curricular project I informed you I'm competing in. He wouldn't agree until I offered incentive and it gave me an advantage over the other competitors."

"I shall send him our formal invitation, then." She voiced, not at all bothered by the fact Regulus had coerced his head of house into breaking the rules to give him an edge.

Minutes continued to tick by in a tense silence as Regulus sipped at his tea, waiting for his mother to signal that the meal was over.

"I was told by Bernadette Rosier that you are expected to join Evan and the others?" His mother asked quietly after some time, and at this he looked up, meeting a piercing black gaze that bored into his. "So soon?"

"Yes, mother." He replied. "Perhaps this evening or the next. They do not wish to waste time."

She gave a firm nod, though whether it was one that signified her approval or one that was simply digesting facts, he could not tell. It might very well have been a mix of both. She had never put a stop to his idolisation of the dark arts and equally dark wizards as he grew up, and he knew the wives of his family's social circle circulated an astonishing amount of information between them, information that was largely in support of their stakes in the war.

"You've made me very proud, Regulus." She stated. "Not like _him_. I know they all still speak of him, I hear their whispers."

And just like that, the conversation began to skirt towards thin ice. Any mention of Sirius, whether he brought it up or she did, was one that was dangerous.

A part of him took a moment to relish the bit of praise that had been awarded. He'd made her proud, she'd said it herself. It was, perhaps, the first time she had ever uttered such a phrase. It might even have been the first time Regulus Black had ever heard those words.

But the fleeting moment of elation was quickly dampened by the subject that had immediately followed: Sirius.

"Sirius is gone." Stated Regulus carefully. "And I will make up for his disgrace. You needn't worry about them."

He was not particularly sure who 'they' were, but he hoped that his words might appease his mother, who was now staring off into space. Perhaps she was speaking of the other wives of their social circle, or perhaps 'they' were the voices that he often found her muttering to when she was alone and undistracted.

And Walburga Black spent much of her time alone, sequestered away in the grand manor as her husband spent his nights with another woman.

She had her little tea parties and gardening events and other things of that nature, but it could not make up for the fact that her days were spent in relative solitude. Solitary confinement never had positive outcomes.

"Yes. Good." She replied off-handedly, still looking slightly dazed. "Now tell me of your project. I wish to hear of it."

Regulus complied.

"We're trying to replicate the effects of a blood bond. The potion, if successful, will produce a short-term version of the boost of magical power that ancient and binding blood magic brought its users centuries ago. We're trying for an hour of continuous magical effect until it wears off, and Efa's designed a special transmutation circle to make sure the bond subsides."

"Efa?" His mother demanded, looking to him with a delicately arched brow.

"My partner for the project. A Ravenclaw."

His mother assessed him a moment before continuing.

"Unengaged?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Is she related to Cousin Phineus? I know he has a daughter, but I had thought she was much younger."

"I doubt there's any relation. The magic comes from her mother's side, and her father is a squib."

His mother's face fell at his words, a tight frown of disapproval tugging at her pursed lips.

"I'll confess, Regulus, that I have had little luck in finding a suitable match for you." Walburga scowled openly now. "I have decided to start looking outside our circle, but the English families are not as pure or reputable as they once were. With any luck, we shall find a witch on the Continent of suitable blood status and reputation."

"Of course, mother." He bit his tongue, obedient as ever. "I trust your judgement."

That was a lie, but it seemed to soothe her troubles, if only momentarily.

He did not expect the surge of relief that flooded his veins at his mother's confession, but the sensation of continued freedom from a forced marriage nonetheless remained. It did not remain for long, however. Her mutterings soon began anew.

"It would have been much simpler, of course, had that _filthy_, _muggle-loving_ _scoundrel_ of a son not tarnished our name. They laugh at us, I know they do. They think our noble family will fall from power and prominence! They whisper of our downfall. This is a shame that others will not forget, and how shall I live with the disgrace of my husband's-"

"You mentioned you redecorated my room?" Regulus interrupted, forcing a casual tone he certainly did not feel. "I would like to see it."

His mother blinked at him, before continuing as if nothing at all were the matter and they had been having a perfectly normal conversation.

"Yes, I chose midnight blue and constellations as a theme. Shall we go look?" She asked contentedly, her tirade abandoned and forgotten.

"I look forward to seeing your décor choices."

That seemed to please her greatly, and they quickly stood and began to make their way towards his room, leaving Kreacher to collect the abandoned plates and tea china.

It had been like this for a while now, though her mental state was undoubtedly worse since Sirius had left them. His father's continued long absences were also partly to blame.

She went from hot to cold in an instant, from peaceful to raging in the blink of an eye. And when it was over, when she had screamed and yelled and hurt either herself or someone else in the process, it was as if nothing at all had happened. She was having a harder time remembering what she said and did when she was having one of her _episodes_.

He had learned how to handle her state the best he could, but at best he could only provide her a temporary distraction from the lurking darkness that ate away at her mind.

She was not the first Black to succumb to the madness.

The truth was that Walburga Black needed help, but would not consent to it. She would never agree to seek treatment, and his father would never have allowed it, lest it bring them even more loss of face.

And so his mother continued to waste away in her grand manor, as his father popped in occasionally to make sure she was still alive. She spent her days wandering the halls in a stupor, re-arranging furniture, entertaining guests who only visited out of obligation, re-decorating rooms over and over again, and muttering to voices that it seemed only she could hear when she was left alone for too long.

Kreacher helped as best he could, but even Regulus recognised that it was too big a task for either of them.

And what could he do? He was away most of the year, and certainly not qualified to help in the way that she needed. He did his best, but he was unsure if it would ever be enough.

At first, the answer had seemed simple: join the Dark Lord, restore his family's honour, and perhaps then his mother would have peace of mind, though he recognised this was a whimsical idea. No amount of atonement on his part could bring back sanity long lost.

This was not simply a case of restoring their status. It was becoming clearer to him that his mother's mind was something that he could not fix by his own actions.

Still, he would try. It was all he had in his power to do.

With his father refusing to allow his mother to be treated, and with Walburga spiralling further and further, and with all the responsibilities he now had to fulfil as his father's heir and the last of his line – it was all he could do.

His mother flit proudly about his bedroom, showing off the new décor and colour choices she had picked for him. He made sure to compliment every detail so that she was assured he was satisfied with it.

The walls had been painted an inky blue, with constellations also painted on in a shimmering silver. The painted stars were charmed to move as a normal constellation might, the walls of his bedroom now mimicking the night skies. The grand bed was covered in a thick grey duvet, with dark blue pillows, and above the fireplace in his room, were a few pictures he had of his favourite quidditch teams and another of him and Evan Rosier as children on their toy brooms.

He also noted she had removed any pictures with Sirius in them, like he had never existed. Regulus did not comment on it.

The only thing that remained unchanged was the little board of newspaper clippings he had scrapped together a few years prior – pictures and snippets of articles from the Daily Prophet that detailed the prowess and power of the Dark Lord.

He grimaced at the sight of it the moment his mother had left him alone, approaching the fanatical looking board slowly and pausing in front of it.

One pale finger lifted to trace over the pictures and articles.

How he had idolized the Dark Lord, how he had imagined this day as a younger boy. And now that day had arrived, but he felt none of the excitement he had always thought he might feel – just a sense of grim duty to his family, to the expectations of him, and to his beliefs of blood purity.

It was not glorious, as he had seemed to think it would be as a boy. It was not heroic, there was no fanfare, he was not a glorified soldier marching off to battle for his people in a parade. It was only duty.

A duty he still believed in and was willing to fight for, but a duty he was bound to nonetheless.

He felt odd surveying the board of clippings and remembering how he had dreamt to be where he now stood. It was strangely anti-climactic, at the end of the day, and it left him feeling unsettled in the worst of ways.

Slowly, he began to pull the clippings from the board he had once so carefully arranged them on. Peeling and un-pinning them one by one, until the board was empty and his hands full of the contents of his childhood admiration.

He dropped them into the fire that Kreacher had lit for him and watched as they burned.

Regulus Black would become a Death Eater soon, but he would do so without the wide-eyed innocence of his youth.

.

* * *

.

At first, Efa was confused.

The cramped little bedroom was not the stone-walled dormitory high above a castle that she was used to seeing when she first opened her eyes in the morning. There was no enchanted ceiling, no thick blue curtains around her four-poster bed, and no other girls waking up along with her.

Instead, there was outdated floral wall-paper, a number of books overflowing from her bookshelf, a small wooden armoire for her clothing, a window with plain white curtains, and a small desk next to her bed.

She sat up slowly, raising her arms above her head in a cat-like stretch and giving a sigh of contentment. Downstairs, she could hear her father in the kitchen frying eggs.

She took a moment to revel in it, the warmth and safety of her childhood home, before she swung her legs over her bed and slipped on a pair of thick socks.

Padding quietly down the stairs after her morning hygienic routine, she arrived to a table set and her father reading the paper as the radio played instrumentals softly from the kitchen. Both father and daughter had yet to change from their pyjamas, as per their normal.

It was good to be home. She had missed this.

Efa took her seat, and her father folded his newspaper with a smile, turning his attention to his daughter.

"Sleep well?" He asked, pushing a mug of tea towards her, which she accepted gratefully.

"Alright." She lied.

In truth, she'd been up in thought until late in the evening, pondering and contemplating over Flitwick's offer and hoping that Mary MacDonald was doing better.

Those troublesome thoughts seemed to melt away now that she was in her father's presence, however. Most things generally did. It was so easy to forget about the terrors of war when she felt so safe and at ease at home. It was a dangerous thought, but she almost fancied she felt untouchable at home with her father, as though this secretive part of her life was something that could not be taken from her.

"I forgot to ask last night, but when are Otto and Gwyn arriving?" He asked, as he spread butter over his toast.

"Oh! They'll arrive in two days."

"And you said they'll be coming via…what was it – the flute?" He asked curiously, looking to her for clarification.

"The Floo network." She corrected with a grin. "I sent an owl to register our fireplace with the Ministry a few weeks ago."

"Right, so they'll just pop on out of the fireplace then?" Charles Hathaway asked dubiously. "Like some sort of spontaneous combustion of wizardry?"

"Mhmm." Hummed Efa, as she took a long sip of her tea.

He stared at her a long moment, as if attempting to discern whether or not it was a joke. Finally, he just shook his head.

"Right. Of course they will." He allowed, still looking as though he would wait to see it until he believed it. "Well, I have to put in some office hours today, but you're welcome to come along. After that we could swing by to the museum in the city centre if you'd like, they've got an exhibit on Roman naval history that looks interesting."

"That sounds lovely." Efa agreed, before sending her father a sly look. "If I come with you to the university, will I get to meet Ms. Singh?"

He inhaled his tea in response, sending the poor startled man into a fit of hacking coughs. Once they had subsided, he looked to her cautiously.

"I – well – only if you're comfortable with it…I had meant to talk to you about this before you left for school but never got the chance." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't want you to feel like I'm replacing Morwenna - sorry, your _Mam." _He corrected. "But she's special to me, and I'd hoped to introduce you two sometime soon. She's quite eager to meet you."

"I don't think you're replacing _Mam." _Efa acknowledged softly. "And besides, I hardly remember her. It's been over a decade and I'm an adult now, you don't have to justify your love life to me. I'm sure Ms. Singh is wonderful."

"Ah, ah, ah." Her father tutted with a frown, covering his relief with humour. "You may be an adult in the wizarding world, but you've still got a year to go in my book, Miss Witch."

Efa hummed noncommittally in response.

If only he knew how fast she'd been forced to mature in the wizarding world. It had been years since she'd last felt like a child.

With a war on-going and her future splitting into two vastly different paths in front of her, there was no room for the antics of childhood. She would soon have to make a decision that would change everything for her.

And once that decision was made, she would also have to admit the true status of the wizarding world to her father, and that was something she was not looking forward to.

It had started off small, a little bit of a tall tale here, an embellishment there – she'd never meant for it to go this far. Efa had always thought the war would be over with quickly, and that there was no reason to worry her father. Unfortunately, the opposite had taken place.

It had only grown worse, perhaps now worse than ever. And according to the Headmaster and her head of house, it was likely she might have a role to play in it, should she accept.

She glanced out the fog-dampened window with a small frown as she took another sip from her mug. Their neighbours across the street, a couple in their thirties with a few rowdy children, were trying to corral a toddler having a temper tantrum into their Volkswagen. A stray cat crouched tentatively at a puddle on the road to take a drink. A foghorn from one of the ships docking in the port sounded in the air. Everything in Cardiff looked so normal, it was hard to believe there was a war raging as she sat eating breakfast with her father.

Life here simply continued as it always had, oblivious to a war raging in a world unseen.

"Maybe we could all meet for lunch?" She suggested then, suddenly feeling desperate for an escape from her darker thoughts. She did not miss the happy look on her father's face. "I'd like to meet her too."

"I'll phone her office, then." He agreed. "Thank you, I appreciate your maturity in this."

"You deserve to be happy." She replied honestly.

She'd hardly finished her statement, however, when an owl collided with their kitchen window, the sound startling the two of them from their conversation.

"Oh, that's Mabon!" Exclaimed the witch, bounding from the table immediately to let the poor bird inside.

"I remember this little fellow." Her father recalled as she returned to the table with Mabon perched happily on her shoulder. She untied the letter and offered the little golden owl a bit of egg, which he took happily. "He's nicer than the other ones. That great grey one always bites, and your friend Otto's owl eats half the cupboard each time he comes."

"Mabon's quite well-behaved, aren't you, boy?" The owl nuzzled her shoulder in response. "Do I have time to write a response before we go?"

"Sure, just make it quick. The trains have been slower lately, we don't want to be late." She nodded, before he continued. "Whose owl is this?"

"A friend's."

"A _male_ friend?"

"….Yes."

"Who is he? Do you _like_ him? Is he kind to you? Have you told me about him befo-"

"Tad!" Efa exclaimed with a laugh. "It's not like that! We're only friends."

"You know, I remember telling my parents the exact same thing when they asked after Morwenna the first time. You can't fool your old man, Effie!" He joked with her, eyes narrowing playfully.

"It's really not like that at all. And besides-" She huffed, fiddling with the letter. "He's one of those purebloods I've told you about. It would be impossible even if it was true – which it isn't."

"That is, coincidentally, also what I said about Morwenna – minus all this weird blood purity stuff. And look where we ended up!"

"I told you, it's not like that." She frowned. "And why did you ever think being with _Mam _was impossible?"

Her father grinned, his eyes holding a faraway look in them as he recalled memories to his mind.

"Your mother's parents hated me, thought I wouldn't be able to provide properly. Which was fair, I hardly had ten pounds to my name back then. We got married anyway though, had a religious wedding and a secular one to appease both sides of the family."

"Well, that's sweet, but not necessarily a proper comparison considering Regulus and I are _just friends_." She reiterated.

"Isn't that the boy you called a 'pompous arse' in your letter?"

"The very same."

"Love works in mysterious ways, I suppose."

"_Tad!" _Efa groaned. "I'm going to respond to this, and I don't want any more teasing from you!"

She stood with an exasperated sigh, though it was one that was not without the lingering traces of amusement.

Her father only gave a serene upturn of the lips, unperturbed by his daughter's denials.

"No promises."

.

* * *

.

It was done.

Regulus Black stared blankly at the ceiling in his bedroom, blinking languidly from his position reclining on his bed.

In the end, it was Rosier and Avery who had come for him, arriving unannounced by floo in the middle of dinner and signalling to him that the time had arrived. He had followed them wordlessly, with a head held high. His mother had sent him off with tears in her eyes, pride glistening there for the son who had stayed on the right track.

It was completed in Malfoy Manor, as many pairs of concealed eyes watched him from behind hooded cloaks.

Never before had Regulus felt such terror in his life.

Not for what he had come to that gathering of wizards prepared to do, but of the power that had emanated from the man he had sworn himself in service to.

He'd done it. It was over. Regulus Black was a Death Eater.

He could see now why his housemates were so nervous about completing their tasks within the castle. The Dark Lord had a magic so strong, so _powerful_, so _aweful_, that it was nearly tangible and seemed to hang thickly in the air, like an invisible mist swirling around their bodies. He'd almost choked on it, buckling under the weight of the magic in the room.

The ceremony had not lasted long. The Dark Lord had only spoken once to him, though they were words that would remain etched in Regulus' memory until the day he was destined to breathe his last.

'_Serve me well and you shall be rewarded, young Regulus Black. Betray me and you and your family shall face worse than death.'_

Regulus shuddered atop his bed, a cold sweat still lingering on his brow.

His mother had wanted to speak when he had returned home, but he had given the quickest excuse he could to retreat to the solitude of his room. After arriving in a swirl of green flames and stepping out of the fireplace, he had almost retched on the spot, barely managing to refrain from staining the luxurious carpet beneath his feet.

He was still not completely certain the nausea was gone, even though it was hours later and he had been lying in bed and staring at the same spot on the ceiling for some time now. He simply did not have the energy or desire to move. The events of the evening were still racing through his mind.

Regulus winced as another white-hot flash of pain pulsed upwards from his left arm.

He glanced down at his sleeve, slowly rolling it up to reveal the dark black snake and skull that was now etched into his skin. The flesh around it was angry and puckered, and his forearm continued to radiate pain and discomfort, though Rosier had assured him it would pass before dawn.

He could still feel the traces of the powerful dark magic that had been used to place it there. It lingered like a poison in his veins. He could feel it. His own awe and terror at experiencing the Dark Lord's magic up close had yet to diminish, even hours later.

Regulus traced a light touch over the mark, before retracting his finger suddenly, as though he had received a jolt of magic.

Such power there, it was mind boggling.

"Kreacher." He croaked, not feeling as though he had the capability in that moment to make his way down to the kitchens.

The elf apparated into his vicinity at once with a small crack of magic in the air, before Regulus had even finished saying his name.

"Yes, Master Regulus?" The house-elf questioned eagerly, looking to him with that same gaze of adoration he always had.

"A spot of tea and some toast." He requested quietly, and the loyal elf nodded, his comically large eyes blinking rapidly.

"Yes, Master Regulus! Kreacher brings it. Kreacher remembers how master takes his tea. One teaspoon of sugar and no cream, Kreacher remembers, Kreacher remembers."

Regulus gave the elf a silent nod of thanks before he disapparated back to the kitchens.

He closed his eyes, leaning back once more onto the many fluffy pillows his mother had placed onto his bed and allowing his body to sink into the soft fabrics and cushion. It was not long at all before another crack resounded, the house elf this time accompanied with a pewter tea tray.

"Kreacher has brought Master Regulus his tea and toast with his favourite preserves! Kreacher remembers his favourite, the blackberries, yes." The old elf stated proudly, as if this little bit of information was something praiseworthy and monumental.

Still, Regulus was gratified by it. Kreacher did pay attention to all the little things he knew his master enjoyed.

"You may place the tray on the bed." He intoned softly, before his gaze narrowed on something tucked under the saucer on the tea tray. "What is this, Kreacher?"

"A letter has come for Master Regulus. Kreacher has let Master's owl out to hunt. Is Master Regulus wanting anything else?"

"No, that will be all." He dismissed the elf, before adding another sentiment. "Thank you."

"Master is not needing to thank Kreacher! Kreacher loves to serve kind Master Regulus!"

He thanked the elf anyway, as he always did. His parents had never approved, and Kreacher always protested profusely, but he always thanked the elf.

And with that the elf departed from him, leaving the young man to his tea and a very odd-looking letter.

The letter was not made of the thick parchment witches and wizards normally sent, but of a thin sort of parchment, much too flimsy in his opinion. It was charmed, however, it had to be. Whoever had sent him the letter had sent it in a downpour. It had been raining non-stop all day.

He turned the paper over, noting the neat cursive he immediately identified as Efa Hathaway's penmanship.

Was this some sort of muggle stationary? It was strange, decorated around the edges and with what looked to be pre-drawn lines on the paper to keep one's words straight.

Odd, he decided, as he scanned over her words.

'_Regulus,_

_It's only been a day or two, so I'm sure not much has changed, but how are you?'_

He scoffed openly at the irony of her first sentence and opening statement. It was true, it had only been two days since they last saw each other, but _everything_ had changed.

'_I successfully performed my first long-distance apparition home from King's Cross, luckily without splinching myself. I gave my father a fright though, he hadn't been expecting the noise and dropped our dinner all over the floor!'_

Regulus could not help how the corners of his lips rose slightly at the situation she'd described.

'_Otto and Gwyn will be coming to visit soon, and we're looking forward to hosting them a day or two. Does your family host any extended relatives or friends during the holidays? What sorts of traditions do you honour?'_

The slightest hint of a smile fell promptly from his features.

They did, in fact, host or visit extended family for a few dinners during the holiday season. Except this year, now that Bellatrix and Narcissa were married, it meant that they would be sharing Christmas dinner with the Lestrange and Malfoy families as well.

The Malfoy's he had no problems with. In fact, he had always enjoyed Lucius and his father Abraxas. They were well-mannered and content to have simple discussions of politics and the such. Regulus approved of the match between Lucius and Narcissa.

But with Bellatrix now came Rodolphus, and with Rodolphus came Rabastan in tow. Needless to say, he was not looking forward to evenings spent in their company.

If Rabastan was bad, Rodolphus was worse in nearly every way possible. Rodolphus was more violent, more easily angered, and uncouth to the point of barbarity that Regulus found hard to tolerate. Rabastan, on the other hand, had inherited his penchant for violence from his older brother, but that was where the similarities ended.

Rabastan Lestrange was quiet, cunning, and analytical in ways that his older brother lacked. Rabastan played mental games, toying with his conversation partners and dragging out useful information from them so skilfully that the person often had little idea they had told him anything of consequence until it was too late.

The two brothers were undoubtedly dangerous, but Regulus was far warier of the younger.

As far as Bellatrix went, he knew that she had been horrified with the match but had been forced to marry out of duty anyways. There was no sentiment between the two, though they did work well together on raids from what he had heard from the others. They were both unhinged enough to feed off each other's destructive and chaotic energy.

He doubted the upcoming family dinners would be pleasant. Though he hoped that having the Malfoy family there might become the saving grace.

Regulus exhaled slowly through his nostrils as another pang of irritation shot up his forearm, turning his attentions back to the letter.

'_I will say that it's nice to be free of the prefect duties for a while, not that I don't enjoy our patrols. But I really love to spend the evening with a good book, and that's what I plan to do. The local library here in my city always has a nice selection of historical books – though nothing regarding potions or alchemy, I'm afraid – but I make do._

_I went ahead and wrote Professor Slughorn to ask for him to order us an iron-ore cauldron for our potion like you mentioned. I've done all the alchemical equations and found that the iron base should be receptive to the ingredients we're using. I'm hoping we've had our last explosion, but I guess we'll have to wait and see. That was a brilliant idea on your part. It's sort of funny that the answer was staring us in the face the entire time, isn't it?'_

Regulus was not sure he would call that funny, perhaps annoying or time-wasting were better adjectives. He did, however, appreciate the fact that she had taken that initiative to cross-check all the reaction rates with the iron-ore base. That would make things a bit easier since she had eliminated that step.

All the chemical equations that alchemy required were ones that looked like utter gibberish and he could make little sense of them. So, he was happy that she had completed those complicated etchings ahead of time.

'_Anyway, I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Let me know if Mabon's doing well, the poor thing accidentally hit our window, but he looked okay when I was sending him off. _

_All the best, _

_Efa'_

He made a note to do exactly as she suggested, for he was very fond of the little owl.

The letter was re-folded into the same creases she had made in it, and placed carefully inside the flimsy little envelope. He was glad for the letter overall, and the brief respite of distraction that had accompanied it.

Even in a letter she sounded so simple and naïve.

_No_, he corrected himself abruptly. Naïveté she had in abundance, but the girl was anything but simple. That mind of hers never stopped it's whirling, never pausing in thought. On the outside, it might seem as though she was simply wandering about with her head in the clouds, but Regulus knew better.

When Efa Hathaway was lost in thought, she was carried away to a world where there were no inhibitions on academic thought and theory. She was not simply day-dreaming of silly and whimsical things, but solving problems, debating things with herself, and exploring an invisible world of magical theory within her mind that Regulus felt assured was likely a wonder to behold.

No, she was not simple, though a first impression was often deceiving where she was concerned. Efa Hathaway was surprisingly easy to overlook.

She was, however, a sheltered young woman from a happy family, one who had yet to discover how dark their world truly was. She'd had a taste of it, but had only really dipped her toe into the cold waters. If she knew, if she _truly_ _knew_, she would be running from him as fast as she could.

Efa was a being who looked for the good wherever she could find it, even in places where none was to be found.

Like Regulus.

_Stupid girl_.

_Stupid, naïve, brilliant, beautiful girl_.

It was almost too easy to accomplish what he needed to do with her, though he would be the first to admit he had not expected anything to come of his little mission to scout and recruit talent – especially not a budding friendship, if that was even the correct word for what lay between them. He had his doubts about that.

Nor had he come to expect that he might ever stoop so low as to reciprocate those amiable feelings, to open up, perhaps even to trust. Even Regulus could recognise this path was a slippery slope, though he couldn't quite seem to find his way out of it. He wasn't sure he wanted to, even if he could.

A rude awakening was instore for the girl sooner or later, and then she would have to make her choice like the rest of them. Perhaps she was already thinking about that choice; he had a feeling that was most likely the choice she had been speaking of on the train ride home, the one that had sent her into a tizzy.

He grimaced as a flash of pain stabbed hotly up his arm again, and he quickly reached for the tea, taking a small taste of the rich liquid and letting it settle upon his tongue before swallowing.

Kreacher did remember, Regulus would give him credit for that. What would he do without that silly old elf?

He worked slowly through the toast and preserves, chewing thoughtfully as his mind continued to replay the events of the evening. Regulus felt a bit calmer now, after reading the letter and feeling as though he was on the cusp of successfully organising his thoughts about it all.

Everything had changed now. The Mark on his arm was testament to that fact.

Though in some ways, it felt as if nothing at all had changed, that he was still the same young man just trying to do his best for his family and live up to the expectations that seemed to tower over him.

He sighed softly, setting his teacup back down to the saucer with a delicate 'tink'. He would need to work through all his thoughts and inconsistencies within his mind before his first meeting. It would take place soon, and he would be expected to share the details he had uncovered and give his opinion on two accounts.

First, whether his brother was still redeemable, and second, the value of Efa Hathaway and other candidates.

As far as his brother went, the answer was blaringly obvious. Sirius Black had chosen his side long before he had ever left Grimmauld Place and faced disownment from his bloodline. That was an easy question, as was Efa's, for that matter.

In the time he had been carefully observing her, he'd come to the strong conclusion that she would be immensely valuable, especially if the Dark Lord was truly interested in Alchemy. Her mind would be a great asset.

He felt a beat of peace in his chest.

It was good really, what he was doing, he reasoned and reassured himself. Their forces were only growing stronger, and after meeting the Dark Lord face-to-face and experiencing for himself the magnitude of magical power he possessed, he was sure that they could not possibly lose.

And when they emerged victorious, Efa would be among the winners, those who would benefit in the new society they would establish – despite a lower blood status. By bringing her into service of the side that heralded little chance of defeat, he would be giving the girl one of the best protections she could possibly have. He was raising her status, ensuring her life would be better in the long run when everything was said and done.

Those who served willingly and made themselves useful would have their reward in the end, no matter their background – at least, that was what was promised. Hopefully, she would benefit as well. He _wanted_ her to benefit from it. He _wanted_ her to survive and prosper.

He was setting her up for a better life, and he could only hope that she would see it that way when the time came. One day, she would be thankful for all his effort, for advocating on her behalf to the one who would rule their society after the war was won.

So why did he feel so restless?

With a groan of annoyance as he stood, he picked the tray up and placed it outside his bedroom door for Kreacher to collect later.

He did not wish to think about the subject further. He only wished to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N - Here we go, guys. Efa's secret is out.**

**Warning: This chapter contains insinuated violence, stressful situations, intimidation, use of the cruciartus curse, and depictions of blood. If this is something you'd rather not read, I've put a small summary of what happens at the bottom.**

**.**

* * *

**.**

_January, 1978_

_._

Deep in the quiet little neighbourhood that sat on the outskirts of Cardiff's city centre was a small home painted white and covered in vines that desperately needed clearing.

It was late - so late, in fact, that the only light still on in all of Southeys Street came from the second story window of the home where the history professor and his strange daughter lived. The thin white curtains were drawn shut, but the warm glow of an old desk lamp still shone through to the empty street.

Inside the room there lay the Welsh witch and her two friends spread lazily out on a giant heap of pillows, blankets, and one very large quilt beneath it all. On top of the quilt was an assortment of snacks that the trio were slowly working through.

"Ooooh, can I try the Toffee Buttons next?" Asked the auburn-haired witch in a spare set of Efa's pyjamas. "How come we don't have this kind? They should make the chocolate frogs out of this stuff, it tastes better."

"Do you ever stop eating?" Sniped Otto, as he watched her reach unabashedly for the next snack.

"She's a growing girl, Otto." Efa chastised playfully.

"She'll be growing horizontally instead of vertically if she keeps eating all this junk food." He returned.

"I watched you eat two bags of those muggle crisps, you bloody hypocrite." Came the response through a mouth full of chocolate.

"Calories don't count on the holidays." Efa stated factually, taking a few of the Toffee Buttons for herself. "And besides, you two have never tried muggle snacks. I nearly made myself sick on the first train ride to Hogwarts trying to taste as much as I could."

"I suppose some more chocolate won't hurt anyone." The boy finally relented, taking the Toffees that Efa extended happily to him. "My _Mutti _doesn't allow such foods at home."

"Your mother doesn't allow much of anything at all." Stated Gwyn with a bark of laughter. "How did you get away, anyways? What story did you make up?"

Otto smirked as he popped a chocolate covered toffee into his mouth.

"I sent a fake letter to her saying that I'd been invited to a prestigious retreat for young leaders in the Italian Alps. She thinks I'm currently rubbing elbows with other sons of foreign dignitaries and enjoying the snow."

"And she bought it?" Asked Efa.

"_Ja." _He replied smugly. "I also sent one to Hans Bremer so it would look official. He needed an excuse to sneak away to see his girlfriend in Bucharest."

"Brilliant, Otto!" Laughed Gwyn.

The laughter on her part was not long-lived. It petered out softly, until it seemed that the happy sentiments had faded away completely and the smile had vanished from her lips.

"Gwyn?" Efa questioned cautiously, noting the sudden change in demeanour.

Two pairs of eyes settled upon the freckle-faced witch, who's mood had taken an uncharacteristic turn towards a sudden onset of melancholy, or perhaps nostalgia.

"I'm going to miss this." She finally stated after a few moments.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Demanded the pure-blooded boy.

She fiddled with the one of the blankets for a moment, pulling at a fraying seam before she answered.

"My parents aren't letting me return to school after break." She admitted, and Efa's smile began to fall as well. "They heard about what happened to Mary MacDonald, and they're worried. They don't think the castle is safe anymore."

Neither Otto nor Efa were able to respond right away. A few moments passed before Efa finally found her tongue.

"But…what will you do?" Efa murmured in quiet awe. "What about exams, and lessons, and-"

"Exams, Efa? Really?" She exhaled loudly, sounding almost incredulous. "There's a war going on that's gotten so bad I can't go back to Hogwarts and you're worried about _exams?"_

"Of course that's not all I'm worried about." Efa returned with a frown.

"Efa has a point." Otto cut in seriously. "What do you plan on doing if you're leaving the school? Or perhaps a better question would be to ask what you plan to do when you come of age in March?"

Efa's eyes widened as Otto's accusatory tone insinuated something she had not yet considered.

"Gwyn, you're not really going to do it, are you?" She whispered in shock.

"Yes. I am." Gwyn stated in firm defiance. "I'll have to wait until March and I'm of age, but I've made up my mind. I'm not going to sit around and wait until it's _my_ family's obituaries in the Daily Prophet. I'm going to fight."

"They'll kill you." Otto stated blandly. "They have some of the strongest and darkest wizards on their side – one seventeen-year-old drop out isn't going to make a difference."

"Then so be it! At least I'll have died for something I believe in." She returned boldly. "They're likely to kill me anyways, whether I fight or not."

That struck a chord deep within Efa.

What did Efa Hathaway believe in? And was it worth dying for?

She wondered if, at the end of the day, she even needed to believe in anything. A belief in something worth fighting for didn't do anybody much good at all if they were dead. All she knew was that she had desires.

Efa desired a wizarding world free of discrimination. She wanted future generations of witches and wizards to never have to live in the terror they currently lived in. She didn't want to have to hide gruesome details from her father. She wanted to be able to be afforded the same opportunities as others, despite being born of muggles. She desired safety.

But wants and desires were certainly not any form a belief system.

Lips tugged downwards as she considered what she might be willing to lay her life down for. It was a harrowing thought, one that had not crossed her mind many times before and an answer that was not so easily summarised or pinpointed.

She wasn't sure if she was brave enough to try and fight in the same bold and courageous way that Gwyn or Remus planned to. Believing in something and having the courage to lay your life down for it were two very different things, after all.

Efa sighed.

"Lend me some of that bravery, would you?" She muttered, and Gwyn was quick to respond.

"You're plenty brave, Efa. You've just yet to realise it. And you too, Otto."

Otto only scoffed, leaning back against a pillow with a scowl on his face. When he spoke, his voice was dark, and for one of the first times in the years she had known him, he sounded uncertain.

"Bravery is for fools."

.

* * *

.

Malfoy manor was nothing if not tasteful.

Narcissa had done well in her role of a newly-wed bride, decorating and polishing the manor until it sparkled and displayed a sense of effortless wealth that the family was well known for.

The Persian rug beneath his feet was new; the rich and vibrant colours and patterns complimented the overall regal and refined display of the décor that Narcissa had chosen.

Regulus was pleased that his cousin was settling well into her new marriage. He'd always enjoyed Narcissa the most out of the trio of sisters. She was kind, generous, well-mannered, and a perfect model of what a pure-blood wife ought to be.

It was a shame that Gregory Wilkes had tracked in filth on his shoes, leaving behind a trail of dirt and grime that stained the polished wood and lush carpets that lead straight to the culprit. If Narcissa could have seen it, Regulus was sure her jaw would clench and her nostrils would flare in her silent, broody sort of disapproval.

Narcissa was not here, however.

Wives of the Death Eaters, no matter how pure their blood or important their spouse, were not allowed to be present at the meetings unless their forearm bore the inky black tattoo that signified they belonged there.

They waited patiently, nervous for the arrival of the Dark Lord.

This time, there were no hoods or masks, for the only people present were those who were still students in Hogwarts. They all knew each other, there was no reason for anonymity.

The Dark Lord took care to conceal the identities and exact numbers of his followers, which was something Regulus both admired and found strangely nerve-racking. They might be anywhere, or anyone, and the only way you might know is if you caught a glimpse of that dreadfully dark mark on the left forearm, which most kept covered. He supposed it made sense.

In case anyone was caught or tortured for information, there would never be much to give. Regulus was aware of the exact reason why the identities of the others were not exposed to them.

It was silent, the atmosphere tense, and Regulus felt he might soon be driven mad if Evan Rosier did not stop tapping his foot lightly against the rug, the sound muffled but a reminder of his nervous disposition. The others stood in careful silence, none daring to speak as they waited.

Rabastan Lestrange was the only one who seemed unperturbed.

The young man whistled a merry little tune that only ended up sounding ominous as he paced casual circles around the parlour, haphazardly prowling about with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a long, black outer-robe.

Regulus was a second away from casting a jelly-leg jinx at the obnoxious pacing when the one they were waiting in silence for finally arrived in a loud crack of apparition, bypassing the extensive wards that the manor had in place to prevent others from doing what the dark witch just had.

It was not the Dark Lord, but Regulus' cousin in his place.

"Bellatrix." He murmured in surprise, and the woman turned at the sound of her name, heavy lidded gaze falling upon him.

She looked just as he had last seen her, though her eyes seemed to shine more brightly than ever.

Her messy black curls were piled lazily on top of her head, her beautiful features were sharp, and she held herself with a dangerous confidence that seemed to invite trouble.

"Dear cousin Regulus," She cooed, not yet having moved from her spot. She arched her head upwards, eyes widening in delight as a coy smile spread over her features. "How you've grown. Come to play with the big boys, have you?"

"Where's the Dark Lord, Bellatrix?" Asked Rabastan bluntly, earning him a look that might have withered flowers as the eldest Black sister stared him down.

"Too busy to play with the ickle kiddies." She drawled in a taunt.

Lestrange scowled, but did not argue her words. Bellatrix was now known to be one of the Dark Lord's favourites, earning her a position of respect even though she was a woman, and would never have been awarded such lofty respects in any other circumstance.

"The Dark Lord has entrusted me to do his bidding, to oversee your progress and report back to him." She stated then, beginning to strut slowly around the room, as if waiting to see if any dared to challenge that claim. None were that foolish, however, so she continued. "My Master wishes to know of your findings, of what talent there is to collect. You will tell me."

It was Severus Snape who spoke first, stating his point quickly and with no fanfare or previous pleasantries.

"Lily Evans." He stated in his normal, surly tone.

Bellatrix rounded slowly, dark eyes honing in on the greasy-haired teen who had voiced his opinion. The woman cocked her head, motioning him impatiently to continue.

"She's head girl." He began. "Top marks and a powerful witch, she outperforms most in many subjects. She is, undoubtedly, a valuable asset."

Regulus suspected there was another reason entirely as to why Snape would argue for her, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Evans is also close with Potter, and he's one of the Dark Lord's preferred candidates." Yaxley voiced. "I've been watching him. If we get the girl he _might_ follow, but it's not likely he'd come of his own accord."

The dark-haired witch nodded with a small hum of interest, not looking particularly impressed in the suggestion but taking note of it regardless.

"And what of Sirius?" She demanded, looking now to Regulus.

When he was younger, he had shrunk under her piercing gaze, but now he had his head held high.

"I've not spoken to him since he left." Responded Regulus haughtily. "Though I doubt his views differ."

"A waste." She sighed, though he could tell she did not mean it. It was a type of comment that almost sounded as if it were made in passing impartiality.

"There's the other one in their group." Wilkes started confidently, drawing the woman's attentions away from her cousin. "The Pettigrew boy. He's a certain."

"Practically scared of his own shadow." Mumbled Avery, which Bellatrix did not miss. "Won't take much."

She gave another slow nod, before turning her sights to Vance Mulciber, who openly glared at her.

There were many who did not care to answer to a woman, or to be given orders by one. There were many who felt that women had no place in their ranks, especially not the wives of the pure-bloods. Vance Mulciber was one of those people.

The wives were to be protected, kept away in their manors and spending their days paying calls to one another and having their garden parties – but not fighting in a war. It was not a woman's concern, or so many said.

She only smirked in return, seeming to revel in the fact that she stood where Mulciber only wished he could be – a trusted favourite.

"And your task, Mulciber?" She queried with a sickly-sweet inclination, one that Regulus knew from experience meant nothing good. That tone almost certainly meant an underlying danger. "The Dark Lord wishes to know if you have progressed."

_A trap_, he wanted to yell at the boy, it was a trap. Instead, Regulus kept his mouth closed. He knew better than to intervene where Bellatrix was concerned. Mulciber was a fool for openly showing his disdain of her position.

"I'd say it's going well." He boasted. "I'm able to hold the curse longer now, and they don't remember anything when they come to."

"Is that so?" She replied off-handedly, gaze narrowing. She stalked closer to him, and the young man squared his shoulders.

"Yes. It is." Responded the boy defiantly.

Bellatrix grinned, and Regulus knew then that Mulciber had practically dug his own grave at the way her eyes glinted and her lips curled.

"I happened to come across the most fascinating article about a girl who attempted to end her life at Hogwarts recently. Perhaps you've read it?"

Mulciber paled as she continued.

"The article also mentioned that the student who found her claimed that it was two boys who saw her jump." She drawled slowly, now pacing a small circle around the young man and whispering into his ears as she went. "Two _seventh-year_ _Slytherins_. You wouldn't happen to know who those two students might be, would you?"

Avery shifted uncomfortably and Mulciber swallowed nervously, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. The last bits of colour drained from an already pale face.

"They'll never know it was us, I made sure to wipe her memory and-"

"_Crucio."_

The reaction was instantaneous.

Mulciber crumpled with a howl that sounded almost unhuman, his form writhing on the floor and bending in unnatural angles until Bellatrix had decided that enough was enough.

His body racked in silent sobs, breaths coming in short pants.

"The Dark Lord does not tolerate mistakes. Nor do I." Bellatrix stated coolly, and Mulciber scrambled backwards. Regulus held his breath, unmoving as he watched it play out in front of him. "I trust that you will be more careful in the future. Never leave any traces. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes-"

"Good!" She sighed happily, stowing her wand away and clapping her hands together as Mulciber struggled to right himself and failed. "Now, who'd like to go next?"

Nobody spoke a word.

Bellatrix continued her pacing, looking gleefully between them all until one finally spoke up.

"I believe Black has something of interest." Lestrange drawled, and Bellatrix turned sharply. Regulus nearly flinched.

"Oh? Do tell, little cousin, do tell."

Regulus took a deep breath, taking care to exhale it inaudibly.

"A witch in my year, Efa Hathaway. Extremely bright, and naïve enough to be influenced." He stated, though the words tasted sour upon his tongue.

Bellatrix gave what looked to be a look of disapproval, before sighing softly.

"How dull."

Regulus was about to say more, to try and paint a more positive picture of her since her future and safety (as well as his chance to gain favour) depended on his performance here, but it was Rabastan Lestrange who beat him to it.

"She's a fledgling alchemist." Lestrange stated, and at that comment Bellatrix stopped in her tracks, suddenly looking quite seriously between the two young men. "They've said she shows the most talent they've seen in a century or more."

"Is this true, Regulus?" Demanded Bellatrix quietly, all hints of playfulness now gone from her demeanour.

"Yes." He confirmed. "Like I said, she's bright."

"And is that all?"

"Yes." Replied Regulus.

"No." Replied Rabastan.

At that, Regulus raised his gaze inquisitively towards the younger Lestrange brother.

"Not with an audience, Bella." Stated Lestrange, glancing towards the others pointedly.

A moment passed, and then another, until Bellatrix looked sharply towards the other young Death Eaters gathered there and barked her order.

"Leave us!" She hissed. "_Now!"_

The young men glanced between themselves uncertainly. Evan Rosier was the first to comply, striding quickly over to the fireplace and promptly disappearing in a rush of green flames without needing further prodding. Avery helped Mulciber limp over, and the two men were the next to leave.

They filed out, one by one, until they'd all but gone. It was Severus Snape who left last, giving Regulus a meaningful look before stepping atop the coals and announcing 'Spinner's End'.

The silence was deafening as the two boys waited for the witch to speak. She had completely shifted in dynamic, no longer prowling about and having her fun. No, Bellatrix Lestrange was serious now, which was decidedly more frightening than when she laughed and flitted about in a state of madness.

"Continue." Demanded Bellatrix now, her voice a sharp hiss.

Rabastan obliged, and Regulus felt his hatred for the young man growing with every word he spoke.

"Dumbledore wants to send her to learn from the same man the Dark Lord is seeking." Lestrange finally revealed. "The Alchemist wishes to pass down his knowledge, and she will be the one to inherit it."

"You are certain of this?" She breathed, and Regulus felt his frustrations and confusion growing as they continued to speak.

"Yes."

"From which mind did you take the information?"

"Professor Sunal, the Alchemy professor. He's getting older, his defences are weakest. I was able to perform the possession easily."

"When will they send her?"

"I didn't find out. I tried again a week later, but I wasn't successful."

Regulus balked, though he took care to maintain a cool, level head. The two Death Eaters he currently shared space with were predatory in nature, observant, and much cleverer than many gave them credit for. He needed to keep calm, because he had no doubt they would see through even the smallest of cracks in his façade.

"Would I be correct in assuming that you have been perfecting the technique of mental possession, Lestrange?" He asked.

Both the witch and the wizard ceased their conversation at once, turning back to Regulus as if they had only just remembered he was there as well. Lestrange gave him a cocky, lopsided smirk.

"The Dark Lord believes I show promise in this field, and has asked me to monitor a select few to try and glean useful information." He explained proudly. "Severus and I alone have been chosen for this task. Myself with the possessions and Severus with his skills in Legilimency. Sunal is already so old and forgetful that he doesn't notice the gaps in his memory."

The only show of annoyance that Regulus gave was the subtle twitching of his brow, the rest of his features a mask of steel.

Bellatrix, however, was now gazing upon her younger cousin with renewed interest, some vague sort of semblance of pride shining in that inky, heavy-lidded gaze of hers.

"The Dark Lord will be pleased with this information, Regulus." She stated, though for some reason, hearing her say it aloud did not make him feel as though he had accomplished anything grand at all. "You are close with the girl?"

Regulus ignored the taunting look that Rabastan was sending him from behind his cousin's back as he answered.

"Yes." He replied quietly.

"Then you will do everything in your power to maintain this connection." Bellatrix commanded, taking a few steps towards him and stopping when she was dangerously close to lower her voice between just the two of them. When she continued, her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Use whatever means necessary. If Rabastan is correct, she will soon have knowledge that is of immense value to the Dark Lord. This is your chance to redeem our family in his sights, do _not_ waste it."

Here it was – the chance he had been hoping for.

When Sirius had left their family, he had taken secrets along with him – names and lists of families who secretly supported the Dark Lord or even the identities of those the young Gryffindor suspected had become Death Eaters within the pure-blood circles. It was damning information.

The blame had fallen on his parents for failing to raise a proper wizard, and for failing to dispose of him when he tried to leave – and thus his family had lost face and status. To have a son who had betrayed them all in such a way was a black spot that could not be washed away.

Yet now a chance at redemption was here. If Efa truly gained whatever knowledge it seemed the Dark Lord was avidly searching for, and if Regulus could be the one to hand that over to his Master, his family would once again prosper. All would be forgiven and the noble House Black would once again be raised to its former glory.

He was the only one who could do it, the last male heir of their line. Try as Bellatrix might, she was a Lestrange now, no longer a Black – transferred from one family to another like the property their patriarchal society viewed her as. Anything she achieved on her own would be given to the credit of her new surname.

"I won't fail." He whispered, voice raw. In the background, Rabastan shifted unhappily at hearing their private whispers.

She gave the slightest dip of her head before stepping back and raising her voice once more.

"The girl has a family, I take it?" The pure-blood witch stated her question, and Regulus was quick to respond.

"A father. They're close."

The sinister smile that spread over her features was chilling.

"Rabastan." She stepped from Regulus' vicinity, and the seventh-year looked up expectantly. "You know what to do."

Regulus felt as though his heart had plummeted into his stomach, a horrible sensation spreading over his body.

_No. No, please. _

The younger Lestrange grinned, flashing his teeth in a fashion that looked predatory.

He gave his sister-in-law a quick nod, before turning, his robes billowing as he strode excitedly towards the fire place. Before he dropped his pinch of floo powder into the flames, he locked eyes with Regulus, the cat-like green gaze flashing a triumphant smile.

And then he was gone, the flames erupting into a grand flash that engulfed him whole and left the Black heir and his cousin to themselves.

"Will he kill the father?" Regulus asked as soon as Rabastan had departed.

He had not suspected this might happen, it had not been his intention, never his desire to rob her of the one she held most dear. His chest clenched painfully, and his mind whirled about in a flurry of different thoughts and emotions.

_Will she ever forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself?_

He had never expected to mourn the death of someone so insignificant, or to feel guilt at doing his duty. And yet he did not protest, nor did he advocate for the man's life.

"Kill?" Bellatrix laughed lightly, the sound tinkling. "There are more creative ways to make a point, dear Regulus. To kill the man would be to lose leverage."

He bit back the rush of breath that threatened to leave his lips in a sigh of relief. Though why he cared at all about what happened to the squib, he could not understand.

"Now run along." She waved him away in dismissal. "Give your mother my regards, won't you, love?"

"Of course." He nodded, beginning to feel nauseous.

He brushed past her, with a mind full of contradictions as he took a pinch of fine powder from the small silver container that sat atop the mantle.

With the command given and a bright flash of green, he vanished.

.

* * *

.

Efa was lost.

She had no complaints, however.

She was lost in one of the most wonderful ways one could be lost – deep within the many rows of bookshelves of a library. She'd been lost for hours now, wandering and browsing through titles, and occasionally plucking up a book by the spine from the shelf and opening the cover.

Otto and Gwyn had left back home the day prior, and her father had to work some last minute assignments, so she'd spent the majority of the day inside their neighbourhood's library, reading to her heart's content and saying hello to a few familiar faces she met along the way.

"Efa, dear-" The voice of the librarian called to her, startling the witch. "I'll need to close things up soon, do you have your books?"

"Yes, Mrs. Jones!" She called back, quickly making her way towards the end of the isle and down to the desk by the entrance.

A frown stretched over her features when she exited the library, only to find that the sun had already set. Her father had asked her to be home by sunset, and it was at least a fifteen-minute walk to their home.

Efa set off quickly.

It was later than she had intended to be out, and she hoped her father was not too worried. She picked up her pace as she thought about it, walking quickly down the lamp-lit streets.

Her heart was beating quickly from the brisk walk as she finally stepped up to the threshold of their house, digging for her keys in her pockets. It was then, as she went to insert her house key into the lock on the front door, that she realised the door was not closed.

It was cracked, and a sliver of light from outside was cast onto the old wooden floors, illuminating just a glimpse of the interior of the home otherwise shrouded in darkness.

Something was amiss.

It was a gut feeling, a subtle intuition, but she felt it all the same.

Her wand was out in an instant as she pushed the door open, the hinges creaking loudly as she stepped inside. A hand flew on instinct to the light switch on the wall, but she bit her lip upon finding it already pushed into the upward position, despite the fact the house was pitch black.

"_Lumos."_

She listened for a moment as she lingered on the threshold, features pinching together unhappily when she confirmed the electricity was out when she failed to hear the loud humming of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

Efa could hear something else, though, something that sounded like laboured breathing. The sound was muffled.

Her wand was extended now, and her heartbeat began to speed.

"_Tad?" _She called softly, whispering into the darkness.

There was no reply.

Then she heard it, the sound of floorboards creaking upstairs, as slow and deliberate footsteps paced above her head. Words were being exchanged upstairs, but she could make out neither the voice nor the words spoken.

Efa was unprepared for the sudden scream of agony that came next, accompanied by a rumbling of laughter that sounded slightly familiar to her, though she could not place from where in her memory.

Her reaction was instantaneous, and with precious little of the careful thought and planning she normally prided herself in. All she could hear were her father's shrieks as she bounded up the stairs and threw open the door to his study.

There was nothing that could have prepared her for what lay beyond that door.

Collapsed on the ground and twitching jerkily in a pool of his own blood, lay Charles Hathaway. Crouched over her father, was a figure obscured in a black cloak.

For a moment, however brief it was, Efa was struck with the fleeting notion that the figure looked like Death itself, shrouded in darkness and coming to collect her father's soul.

The figure straightened, however, and the thought flew from her mind. They wore a mask, and in a horrid jolt of realisation, Efa knew exactly what this person was.

The cloaked figure raised their wand, and time seemed to slow.

A Death Eater had come for them, her worst nightmare was now her reality. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, she couldn't even think straight. All she could see was that horrid mask, all she could hear was her own pulse in her ear.

The masked figure said something. She did not hear it.

_Move. Do something._

She needed to move. Why couldn't she move?

She had heard it said before that when one was faced with imminent death, that their life flashed before their eyes. But Efa saw no flashes, no sweet reminders of childhood or little moments ingrained in her memory. All that remained was a fear so horrid she could nearly taste it.

Her father moaned then, the sound strangled and wet, and her eyes darted to the body for a fraction of a second.

_He'll die if you don't do something._

That realisation was the catalyst needed for her to snap out of her terrified stupor and act.

She raised her wand, but the Death Eater was quicker.

A crack resounded loudly in the study, and the figure was gone before she could finish her jinx. She heard another crack then, sounding as though it had come from outside the home but still nearby.

A flash of something green and then one of red, another crack, and then silence.

On the window of his study, she could see that horrible mark in the clouds reflected back to her on the window pane, the one she'd seen so many times on the cover of the Daily Prophet and in her nightmares when she slept.

The Dark Mark.

It cast an eerie green glow into the room, enough for her to read what had been written above the body of her father.

Above the man was a word smeared onto the wall in the sticky, red substance that leaked from his own wounds, like something out of a horror film. She stared at the word that had been spelled out onto the wallpaper with her father's blood in a shock so terrible that she had momentarily forgotten to breathe.

_Mudblood_

Her father wheezed then, giving a ragged exhale. The spell of grotesque horror was broken in an instant, and she threw herself down to her father's side, pressing her hands to one deep gash on his chest and attempting to see what damage had been done.

He had his eyes open, but his gaze flit around the room in a panic, and after a few moments of attempting to speak to him, to ask him what had happened and where else he might be injured, it finally occurred to her that he could neither see nor hear her.

Charles Hathaway coughed again, sending bloody dots splattering across her face. Wavering hands dropped a wand to the ground as a strong wave of hysteria set in.

_Think! _The witch screamed at herself from within,_ You have to think of something!_

_The facts. _She reasoned, as her mind whirled faster than she could keep up with and her body trembled violently._ Start simple. Start with what you know._

Help. Her father needed help. She was not in the position to give him the help he needed. She needed to take him elsewhere, and quickly.

Whoever had been here was a Death Eater.

This was an attack, something intentional, planned, coordinated.

The Dark Mark had just been cast above her home.

Her father was alive, though in a bad shape. Judging by his dishevelled and confused glancing about, she made a quick assumption that dark magic had been used.

There was smoke beginning to creep into the room now, confirming what that second flash of red had been after their attacker had cast the Dark Mark. Their home was on fire, and she was _running out of time_.

All the facts began to string themselves together quickly inside her mind, and she grabbed her father's hand when she felt she was calm enough to perform the magic that she needed to in order to transport her father to safety.

_But where can I go?_

St. Mungo's was out of the question. Her father was a muggle, and the building was protected to the brim with anti-muggle wards to make sure none accidentally wandered in. She did not know enough about their wards to know if apparating inside the building with her father in tow would cause him any further harm, and she simply did not have the time to pop in ahead and ask. There were spells that could be cast to allow muggles to bypass such wards, but she did not know them.

No, she would bring him somewhere else…but where?

_A muggle hospital won't know what to do with any dark curses. They're more likely to resort to a lobotomy than anything_.

She let out a frantic, high-pitched moan as she continued to filter through options until the thought occurred to her.

_Remus!_ She could take her father to Remus!

His father was a healer and Efa knew that his friends had ties to the Order, which had ties to Albus Dumbledore. Her mind spun as she recalled Professor Flitwick's words to mind, thinking back to their conversation before they'd all left for the train.

'_If you accept this offer, you and your father will be placed under the protection of the very best – that of Albus Dumbledore himself!'_

Protection was something she felt they needed most in that moment – and who better to seek it from than the one wizard who could face _You Know Who _head on.

Her mind was made up. She would go to Remus, for he had the necessary connections in place to call upon the one person who would be able to offer her father the protection that she could not.

Efa recalled to mind a short conversation she'd had with Remus the week before they'd left for home, when he'd told her that he and his parents would be spending the holidays with the Potters. She racked her brain for the details, feeling a rush of relief when she remembered that they would be there now.

Godric's Hollow.

She'd seen a picture of it before, a sleepy little snow-covered village that hosted a sparse few wizarding families. There had been a picture that Remus used to use as a bookmark, one of all four Marauders standing in front of James Potter's house in their third or fourth year.

That was it. That was the information she needed. As long as she'd seen a picture of the place, it was possible to apparate there – she'd been told so in her lessons this year, though she'd yet to attempt photo-based apparition.

She took her father's hand in hers, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she recalled the photo in her memory as best she could, picturing all the details and pulling on the magic that resided deep within her veins to aid her.

She barely heard the crack that echoed in the night air, and she hardly felt the frigid cold of the heavy snow that bit at her exposed skin when she and her father landed on the threshold of the Potter's home in quiet little Godric's Hollow.

The snow on their door step was now painted red, ruining the peaceful and quaint image of the picturesque home. He was bleeding so heavily that his face had gone nearly as white as the snow his body lay sprawled atop.

Efa stood in a hurry, hardly thinking about what their neighbours might think when she began to bang her fists frantically on the door.

She pounded the wood with more force than she knew she had, until the skin around her knuckles split open, smearing her own blood across the wood.

"Yes, yes, alright already." It was Sirius Black who finally answered the door. "What do you wa-"

He stopped immediately upon the sight of a blood-soaked Efa Hathaway and what looked like a mangled corpse at her feet.

His jaw fell open.

"Hathaway?" He uttered in shock, features twisting in uncertainty.

"Please-" She breathed, voice hardly audible. "Help him, please. My father, he's hurt-"

For a split second, Sirius was motionless. Then something strange flashed in his eyes, and he drew his wand in a motion so quick that she hardly saw it before it was pointed directly between her eyes.

"What nickname do James and I call you?" He demanded, tone dangerously low.

"What?" She cried as a shiver racked her body and she looked frantically between her father and the disinherited Black.

"Answer the bloody question. _Now_."

"Bookworm!" She exclaimed frantically. "Please, Sirius, he's hurt!"

He nodded, hard expression melting away from his features as he stowed away his wand before stepping outside and yelling loudly for Mr and Mrs. Potter.

"I'm sorry." He murmured as he knelt down to the body of her father and slung a bloody arm over his shoulder. "Had to be sure. Come inside, hurry."

She heard who she assumed to be Mrs. Potter gasp as Sirius dragged her father into the warmth and safety of their home, with Efa following behind him.

"The sitting room, lay him on the sofa." She instructed, without bothering to ask who the man was or how he had come to be in such a state. "James? James! Bring the dittany from the cupboard!"

Whatever festivities had been going on were now brought to a screeching halt as Sirius brought her father into their sitting room, where a small group of people looked as though they had just been popping open Christmas crackers.

The wizarding radio played softly in the background and a decorated tree glowed with sparkling ornaments, but the atmosphere had lost all its jolly warmth in a second.

Remus stood immediately upon seeing her.

"The Dittany, James!" Yelled Mrs. Potter in a fluster, as Sirius placed her father's paling body atop an upholstered couch. "Now!"

James Potter hesitated only a moment, before turning tail and bounding out of sight.

Peter Pettigrew and an older, mousy-haired woman that looked similar to him sat in stunned silence, each sporting the paper crowns from their Christmas crackers. Hope and Lyall Lupin, whom she recognised from King's Cross just two weeks prior, also stood.

"Efa?" Breathed Remus, before appearing in front of her after a few quick strides. He grabbed her shoulders gently, eyes scanning for any sign that the blood covering her body might be hers. "Efa, are you hurt? What's happened?"

She only shook her head and choked on her own breath, eyes not yet moving from her father.

Lyall Lupin responded immediately, pulling out his wand and moving to where Charles Hathaway lay upon the sofa. His murmuring in Latin was soft, spell after spell as he went to work, applying a healer's knowledge to right the wrongs that had been done to his body.

Mr and Mrs. Potter returned then, with their son behind them, moving quickly past Efa to set up multiple vials and instruments on the floor by the sofa for Mr. Lupin's usage. It was not long before Mrs. Potter turned her sights to the curly-haired girl with a worried look.

"Are you hurt, love?" She asked softly, motioning Remus to step aside so she could look her over.

Efa shook her head.

"Can you tell us what's happened? James says you're schoolmates, is that right? You can trust us, dear."

Her thoughts were still frenzied, her body trembling as she tried to find her tongue and string the words together to form a proper sentence.

"Death Eater." She rasped. "Th-they put the mark above the house…I – I was – I – I came home late and – just one there, I think – and then the fire. I think they've used a dark curse, but I don't – I don't know if – I don't-"

She wasn't sure if she was making any sense. She was hardly making sense of things within her own mind.

Mrs. Potter shared a solemn look with her husband, and Peter Pettigrew gasped loudly.

"What do you mean, 'Death Eaters'?" Demanded Sirius, stepping forward with a hard look. "Was it just one? Where did this happen?"

"This isn't an interrogation, Padfoot." Remus spoke sternly.

"Well we ought to know if we're expecting company, don't you think? What if they've trailed her here? How did she even know to come here?"

"We've got enough wards up, Padfoot." Argued James.

"The photo." She explained shakily, eyes not yet having moved from watching Mr. Lupin tend to her father. "Remus uses one as a bookmark that was taken here, I didn't know where else to go."

"You were right to come here, love." Mrs. Potter affirmed strongly, sending a look of warning towards her adopted son, one which went unheeded.

"But why here, Hathaway? Why not St. Mungo's?"

"He's a muggle." Remus answered for her, revealing the long-held secret as he frowned towards his friend. "Leave the questioning for later, she's had a fright."

Efa wasn't sure that adjective was what she would have chosen. She wasn't even sure there was one strong enough for the terror that still coursed through her veins.

"My wand-" She blurted suddenly, tearing her eyes from her father and running her hands over her pockets. "I left it there."

"I'm sure someone from the Ministry will collect it." Stated Mr. Potter in gentle assurance. "You should stay put for now, it's not safe."

"Will he be okay?" Efa asked worriedly, looking once more to her father. "He has to be - I don't have anyone else – this is _my fault_-"

Mr. Lupin interrupted the beginnings of a frantic ramble, a soft and reassuring smile gracing his features.

"The physical wounds are healable, nothing a little magic and dittany won't fix." Efa exhaled in relief as the man continued. "But he'll need to go to the specialist in St. Mungo's for unknown curses. I'll floo there now. You said he was a muggle? Might I have your full names?"

"Charles Hathaway and Efa Mae Hathaway." She stated quickly, and Mrs. Lupin gave a firm nod.

The adults in the room moved off to the side for a short moment, exchanging a hushed conversation with each other before Mr and Mrs. Lupin hoisted her father up together and stepped into the fireplace with him, disappearing in a rush of emerald flames.

The moment the flames had subsided, Efa's knees buckled, her strength slipping away from her as the overwhelming thoughts and emotions overflowed.

"Oh!" Exclaimed Mrs. Potter in a rush. "Remus, Remus help her upstairs. We'll get her cleaned up and a fresh change of clothes. No doubt you'll want to go straight to bed."

But to sleep was the very last thing she wanted, and she doubted she would be able to even if she wanted to. Yet she found she had little strength to protest.

Her legs continued to shake as Remus led her up the stairs with Mrs. Potter, as the others erupted into a fierce conversation about the events that had just taken place the moment she exited the room. The young man at her side was muttering soft and reassuring things in her ear as they went, but she couldn't make out much of what he said over the whirlwind of emotion and thought that had overtaken her.

Out of all the chaos of her mind, however, one fact stood out clearly amidst it all.

As soon as she was able to, she was going to find a way to contact Albus Dumbledore and let it be known that she was ready to accept the offer he had made her.

She would do as he had asked, she would inherit whatever knowledge was so special – she would do anything to make sure her father was well protected.

It was clear to her that simply keeping her father hidden away in muggle society and keeping him out of the loop was not enough to ever be able to shield him from the effects of a war that had now reached their doorstep. No amount of hiding away and no amount of ignorance would be able to change the fact that she had been sucked into this conflict, and her father as well by extension.

It was also clear that somebody, though she did not know who, had discovered the secret of her heritage.

The image of that horrible slur painted upon the wall in her father's blood was one that would forever remain etched in her memory.

It occurred to her then, as Mrs. Potter guided her into a large bathroom and began drawing water into a claw foot tub, that she had found it. She still wasn't sure if she believed in anything at all, but she had found something more important than a simple beliefs system: her family and friends.

Efa had finally found something she was willing to fight for, perhaps even lay her life down for, though she had a feeling she had known this all along.

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**Summary of the chapter: Gwyn, Otto, and Efa bond while they visit. Gwyn reveals her parents will not let her return to Hogwarts, and that she plans to join the fight if she can't return to school. Regulus attends his first death eater's meeting, where the students give names of those who they believe have talent the Dark Lord would like to have in his ranks. Severus makes the case for Lilly, and Regulus for Efa, and Rabastan reveals the Dark Lord has tasked him to spy on staff using possession techniques. He knows Efa will be Flamel's replacement, and shares this information. Bellatrix tasks Lestrange with going to Efa's home to torture her father to send her a message and scare her into submission. Efa takes her father to Remus and the Potters after the attack and decides to accept Dumbledore's offer in order to better protect her father.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N - The day of reckoning has arrived and emotions are about to run heavy. Also...Dumbledore is really tricky to write? I lost track of how many times I re-wrote his dialogue, and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. At least I got to write Mr. Hathaway some more, I enjoy his character a lot (he's actually heavily influenced by my own father and our close relationship).**

**Anyway, let me know your thoughts and thank you for reading and reviewing! Some of you guys are leaving some really great and detailed analyses of the characters and dynamics, and those are so much fun to read!**

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_January, 1978_

_._

A drop of water fell from a strand of long, dark hair and onto the wooden floor of James Potter's bedroom.

A mug of some sort of drink sat beside her hips on the floor, though it had long since cooled and she had not taken a single sip from it. A crocheted blanket was wrapped over her shoulders, and though the fireplace in his bedroom was blazing and Mrs. Potter had seen to it that Efa had warmed up in a hot bath, she still felt cold.

The door opened, or perhaps 'slammed open' was a better way to describe how Sirius Black barged angrily into the room and threw himself onto a chair in a show of moodiness.

Efa flinched at the sound, and Remus gave her hand a squeeze.

"We're not to come down until they tell us to." He announced in a grumble. "_The adults _are having a 'serious discussion'."

Sirius spat the words as if he took offense to them, and James Potter sighed wistfully.

"Banished then?"

"Banished." Affirmed Sirius gloomily.

"Probably for the best." Replied Peter nervously. "They'll know what to do, after all."

"For the best?" Sirius asked. "They're treating us as if we aren't of age, as if we won't be fighting for the Order in just a few months ourselves! I say we've every right to take part in the discussion."

"Here, here." Mumbled James, who also looked displeased at being forcibly sequestered upstairs.

"Did they have any updates about Mr. Hathaway?" Asked Remus pointedly, derailing Sirius before he could say anything more.

Efa looked up at this, wide brown eyes looking to Sirius expectantly. It was quite late, and they'd yet to hear any updates on his condition.

Sirius glanced towards her, expression turning sheepish.

"Right, yeah." He mumbled, rubbing at his neck awkwardly. "He's still in the ward for counter-curses, but they've closed all his wounds and there are aurors posted outside the room."

She gave an absent-minded nod at the information, processing it slowly.

"I don't mean to pry, Hathaway…" James began hesitantly after a beat of silence. "But I thought your father was a squib?"

Her shoulders sank miserably, but she knew she could no longer keep up the charade. The cat was out of the bag, there could be no more pretending.

How foolish she had been to believe a simple lie could have kept him safe. How foolish she had been to ever believe the war would just peter out, or that her father would be safe by keeping important information from him. It had been wishful thinking on her end, wishful thinking that'd had disastrous consequences.

No, not wishful thinking, she realised in a sudden, horrid jolt.

She had been arrogant. There was no other word to describe it. She had been arrogant, cowardly, and ashamed of her heritage.

"I lied." She replied bluntly, feeling an empty sort of despair eating away at her chest. "I thought it would keep us both safer. He's a muggle, and so was my mother."

"You've pretended to be a half-blood all this time?" Asked James, his brows furrowing together. "Remus, you knew?"

He gave a solemn nod, and Sirius was looking at her as though the information had struck a nerve with him, as though this revelation brought on a certain amount of revulsion.

She supposed that was only natural. She was beginning to feel repulsed with herself and her lack of spine as well.

It was cowardly to pretend and to hide. It was cowardly to claim to be something you were not when others like Lily Evans or Mary MacDonald stood their ground and paid the price for it. It was cowardly to watch on from the safety of a false identity as others were harassed, harmed, and killed.

People like Sirius Black had risked everything to find the courage to leave, to make a stand for their morals. She could understand if Sirius was angry at the revelation that she had created a safe space for herself whilst others suffered – that she had slunk away into a world of shadows and lies while they stood up boldly and fought.

"I'm a coward." She whispered, blinking rapidly as her face heated involuntarily. "I wanted to keep my father safe, but I can't lie about the fact that I did it for myself too. I was scared, for him _and_ for myself."

The silence was tense. Sirius had balled his fists tightly at his sides, and James was looking upon her with an expression that was unreadable.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with that." Blurted Peter suddenly, cheeks turning a healthy scarlet when all their attention landed on him. "If I were muggle-born with the way things are right now, and if it were my mum all by herself without any protection, I'd have done the same."

Efa was surprised to hear him say it, and somewhat thankful for his words, even though her self-depreciation continued to gnaw away at her conscience.

"Listen." Stated Remus seriously. "What's done is done. There's no use dwelling on whether it was right or wrong, especially while Mr. Hathaway is in the hospital."

James gave a nod of agreement, and Sirius thankfully turned his gaze away from her.

"It's not like it matters anymore." She murmured quietly. "Whoever attacked my father knows what I am."

"But how do you know?" Asked Pettigrew with a frown.

Efa gave a small shudder, pulling the blanket closer to her body.

"They'd used his blood to write 'mudblood' on the wall…" She trailed off, as the image returned to her mind. "I don't know how they found out, but my father paid the price for my lie. It's my fault that he-"

She stopped abruptly as her vision began to swim, the four forms of the boys becoming blurry to her eyes.

_Inhale, Exhale_.

She repeated this until she was sure that she would not cry in front of them, swallowing back the lump in her throat and wiping discreetly at her eyes.

She had no right to cry, not when she was responsible for the entire mess, and certainly not when she had placed them all in danger by bringing her father to them – even if the parents downstairs assured her that it was the right decision to have made.

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but before the words could leave his lips, a rustling was heard outside the door and the five schoolmates paused when the door knob turned. In bustled Mrs. Potter, who looked kindly between them before her gaze settled on the damp-haired witch wrapped in a blanket.

"We need you downstairs if you're up to it, dear. Dumbledore's just arrived." She said with a gentle smile, before turning her attention to James and Sirius, who had stood as well. "And you four are to _stay put_, do you hear me? If I catch any of you trying to eavesdrop, then there _will_ be hell to pay."

"But mum-" James tried to protest, but the elder witch held up a firm hand.

"You'll stay put! You may be of age, but you are still my son and I will ground you if I must. The same goes for you, Sirius." James groaned in exasperation as he flopped back down onto his bed, and Sirius scowled, but knew better than to argue. "Come now, dearie, I'll make you another cuppa while you talk to Albus. Come along-"

Mrs. Potter wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder as she guided the nerve-wracked witch out the door, down the corridor, and down a flight of stairs in the large and quaintly decorated home.

She recognised the Headmaster immediately upon entering the sitting room.

He stood with his back to the fireplace, his half-moon spectacles perched precariously low on the bridge of his nose, and his silver and purple robes slightly wet at the hem.

Efa had only spoken with Albus Dumbledore a sparse few times, and never had the conversations lasted very long at all. The Headmaster was normally quite busy, and it was rare she caught much of a glimpse of him at all outside of meal times.

Yet there he stood, next to a blood-stained sofa and asking to speak with her personally. He had a serious look about him, though somehow kept a calming aura and a benign hint of a smile on his lips.

He spoke only once Mrs. Potter had exited the room.

"Miss Hathaway," He began, addressing her calmly in a voice made rich from age. "I believe this is yours."

He was extending something to her, and it took Efa a moment to recognise that he held her wand in his hand.

She stepped forward and took it from his outstretched grasp, noting that either he or someone else had cleaned the blood off the polished wood of her wand carved from Silver Birch.

"Thank you." She murmured quietly, tucking it inside the large pocket of a dress that Mrs. Potter had lent her, one that was nearly three sizes too big and hung off her frame in a way that made her look like she was half-starved.

"I have informed the Ministry that you and your father are both alive, contrary to what was initially assumed at the scene of the crime." He informed her. "You made a wise decision, to come here. The Potters were able to get word to me before the Ministry had arrived to your residence on Southeys Street."

Efa paused a moment, blinking as she digested the information. She had not considered what the aurors might have assumed upon finding the scorched remains of a home underneath the Dark Mark, but no bodies in the vicinity. It had not occurred to her that they would likely assume their demise.

Dumbledore continued.

"I have also just arrived from St. Mungo's-"

"Is he okay?" She interrupted before backtracking when she realised she'd cut him off mid-sentence. "Sorry, Professor."

"He is much himself once more, I should say." He informed her, and Efa nearly sank to her knees in relief. "Though he seems slightly confused; the healers are worried his memory might be damaged. I, however, do not share these beliefs."

"His memory, sir?"

The elder wizard gave her a knowing look, one that spoke volumes and seemed to pin her to her spot.

"He seems to be under the impression that the magical world is perfectly at peace, and has no recollection of the fact that our society is at one of its darkest points in wizarding history." He stated serenely. "I thought this very odd."

She hung her head, suddenly finding the little grooves on the wooden floor beneath her feet far more fascinating to look at.

"Why have you lied to your father, Miss Hathaway?"

Efa sighed.

"It started off small." She admitted, feeling hot shame running through her body. "I don't think I'd fully grasped how serious the situation was when I first started school. I suppose I thought the conflict would work itself out quickly…but it never did."

"I had suspected as much." The silver-haired wizard stated dolefully. "You are not the first to take this course of action. There were multiple witches and wizards who thought the same, though such careless assumptions have cost many their lives."

She could not help the grimace that spread over her features.

"Things just kept getting worse, and I thought that he'd be safer the less he knew…and I was selfish too. I knew he'd forbid me from returning if he ever found out. I thought I knew best." She whispered, once again swallowing back that annoying lump that kept trying to work its way up her throat and cloud her eyes. "And I wanted to learn, I wanted it so badly that I lied to him for years. And I lied to everyone else, too. They all thought I was a half-blood, but all I've been doing is _lying_-"

The hot tears spilled over her cheeks now, and she was unable to hold them back any longer.

"And now he's been hurt because of it. Because of _me_."

The Headmaster neither confirmed or denied her words, he only continued to speak calmly and rationally.

"Yet he is alive…As are you."

"We shouldn't be, though, should we?" She voiced her suspicion aloud, wiping desperately at tears that would not seem to stop.

It had already crossed her mind a few times.

They both ought to be dead. Both Efa and her father, in any other scenario, ought to be nothing but cooling corpses inside their little home on Southeys Street, with the Dark Mark floating ominously over the scene of their murder.

Why were they alive? What special privilege had been awarded to Efa and to her father that they had been allowed to retain their lives unlike all the rest of those who had been targeted by the Death Eaters? Not many lived to tell the tale of a Death Eater attack, and Efa suspected she was not alive because of chance.

"No." He stated plainly. "You should not be, and the fact that you are here is somewhat troubling. I am, of course, immensely gratified to see you in good health, though one can only wonder as to why you stand here now."

But the Headmaster spoke as if there were something that was not surprising about this fact at all.

At this he paused a moment before continuing. The man turned towards the fire, the shadows from the flames making his wrinkles look like deep chasms in his skin.

"It is only speculation," He said softly. "Though I believe their intent was to send a message. I am now sure they are aware of the proposition I have offered you, when I had only guessed before. Part of the blame of this unfortunate situation rests solely upon my shoulders, and for this, I offer my most sincere apologies."

"There really are Death Eaters in the castle then, sir?" She asked, though she was not sure she cared to hear the truth. "Spies for _You Know Who?"_

"We can now be quite sure that this is the case." Replied the man quietly and with much assurance, as though she had just told him the sky was blue. "I have only speculated before this evening. Though I must say, I am quite impressed that they were able to glean this information in particular. I must give credit where credit is due."

How he could stand there and chat so calmly about Death Eaters roaming the castle, Efa had no idea. 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer' was good advice, but this felt a bit extreme.

"So they know that you want me to be Flamel's successor, and the attack on my father was what, a scare tactic? A message?"

"A reminder." He said instead, turning away from the fire to face her once more. "Of what happens to those who oppose Lord Voldemort, or so one would presume."

Efa balked at the name, a shiver running down her spine. Her thoughts once again drifted to her father.

"Can you really protect him, sir?" She asked earnestly. "Can you promise me that no harm will come to him if I agree to do this?"

"I believe we are both aware that to make promises of certainty is foolish." He replied sternly.

"But you'll try, you'll do your best?" She was pleading now, eyes searching his desperately.

"Yes." He spoke after a few moments. "Of that I can give you my word, though I would advise you to remember that I am only mortal."

She gave a slow nod.

It was the best security she could afford her father, that of Albus Dumbledore himself. None could match that. If there was one thing that this evening had proven to her, it was that she was incapable of providing that protection.

She was simply not strong enough, and she had no unrealistic vision of what the Dark Lord and his forces were capable of. She was aware she could not protect her father if they decided he was to die as retribution or to be used to frighten her into submission.

"Then I'll do whatever you ask of me." She said, though her voice wavered, and she did not sound anywhere near as confident as she wished she might have come across.

"You may take more time to think. Your father will be taken care of regardless of your decision." He offered softly. "You will no doubt be targeted by the enemy should you agree. Be aware that this decision is not one that you can reverse, nor one that should be made without the full knowledge of the danger that accompanies it."

Efa frowned.

"I'm not brave like the others, Professor. Are you sure that I'm the right person to pick?"

"On the contrary, Miss Hathaway." He replied, a slight twinkling visible from behind his spectacles. "I believe you shall find that bravery manages to manifest itself in the most interesting of ways."

She fiddled a bit with the fabric of the long and loose sleeves of the oversized dress, wondering what he might have meant by that.

Efa supposed that, at the end of the day, it didn't really matter if she was brave or not as she currently was. Perhaps it was something she could learn, or perhaps it came with time.

Either way, her decision had been made the moment she'd found her father laying in his own blood and struggling to breathe.

"I'll do it."

With those three words, she sealed her fate. Albus Dumbledore gave a nod, though the twinkling had vanished from his eyes to leave him looking sombre.

A sombre day indeed when the youth became soldiers on the front lines of a battlefield.

"We shall speak more on the subject when you arrive back to the castle." He announced. "I will have your father moved to a secure location when he is discharged, though I advise you to speak with him regarding the current state of our world and your involvement in it before he is moved. I must also request that you remain here, in Godric's Hollow, after your visit. The Potters have agreed to host you until the beginning of term."

"Yes sir." She replied obediently.

"Oh, and one more thing, Miss Hathaway." He turned, a spark of mischief in his blue eyes. "Please relay to your friends upstairs that it is quite rude to eavesdrop."

"Sir?" She questioned curiously, looking towards the staircase but not spying any of the Marauders there.

"I am likely mistaken, but at one point during our conversation, I found that the coals in the fire place looked remarkably similar to the face of a certain Mr. Black. But perhaps my older eyes are beginning to play tricks on me." He announced in amusement. "Good evening, Miss Hathaway."

He was gone in a loud crack, vanishing into the air.

Efa glanced towards the fireplace absentmindedly, but saw no trace of the boys or any indication that they had disobeyed Mrs. Potter by attempting to eavesdrop.

The witch lingered a few moments, listening to a kettle starting to whistle before somebody in the kitchen removed it from the heat. Her gaze was glued to the fire, but she let her vision go lax as she contemplated the deal she had just made and what that would mean for her.

Her life would soon change, though she did not yet know in what ways that change would present itself. Thinking back on it, she realised it would have been smarter to gain some more details about exactly what she would be expected to do and what type of knowledge she would be inheriting from the Alchemist in hiding before agreeing, though she knew that it didn't really matter.

She would have agreed to just about anything after what had happened that evening. Dumbledore had offered her something that she could never turn down: knowledge and protection for her father.

She took the new mug of steaming tea from Mrs. Potter when it was offered to her, promising to drink this one as the woman ushered her back upstairs to re-join the boys. Efa paused a moment outside the door, wiping her hands one last time over her eyes to ensure that the tears were gone.

They did an excellent job of looking as inconspicuous as possible when she slipped back into the room. James was using his wand to levitate crisps into Peter's mouth, Sirius was looking through a muggle magazine with a motorcycle and a half-dressed girl on the front, and Remus was fiddling with something that looked somewhat like the magical equivalent of a Rubik's cube.

She surveyed them quietly before announcing what she had been asked to relay.

"The headmaster told me to tell you it's rude to eavesdrop."

A crisp fell into Peter's mousy hair as James broke his concentration with a groan.

"I told you it wasn't going to work." Remus stated matter-of-factly, looking slyly towards Sirius, who tossed the magazine to the side with a huff.

"Did you hear anything good?" She asked as she closed the door behind her, knowing already that the answer was likely a 'no'.

Albus Dumbledore, as she had come to learn that evening, was fallible just like anyone else – but he was still a better wizard than most.

"Not a damn thing." Grumbled Sirius, sending her a foul look.

"Wandless magic, probably." Peter remarked with a tired yawn. "I had a feeling that Remus was right. Did you really think Professor Dumbledore wouldn't notice?"

"No." Refuted James. "But we had to try. I'm tired of being kept in the dark."

At this, all eyes turned towards Efa, even Remus' gaze looked unabashedly curious. She frowned in return.

"Don't bother asking." She retorted, plopping herself back down on the floor next to Remus. "I'm not allowed to discuss it."

"Then at least answer this, Bookworm-" Sirius crossed his arms and leaned back into the wooden desk chair. "Can we expect to be working together in the future? Will you be joining the Order?"

Efa paused, contemplating his words.

She still had little to no idea what Dumbledore's expectations for her were, aside from becoming apprentice to the world's most famous alchemist. Though, if she had made a pact with Albus Dumbledore, she figured that her loyalties were easy to guess.

"I don't know anything regarding the Order…" She trailed off quietly. "But I'm to do something for Dumbledore, and I reckon that makes us allies…Oh, and Sirius?"

His gaze narrowed slightly as she called his name mildly.

"Yeah?"

"The next time you call me bookworm, I'm going to hex you."

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* * *

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Efa stood outside the door, shifting her weight nervously between her legs.

She had a feeling that if she didn't enter the hospital room soon, that the auror known as "Mad-Eye Moody" was going to throw her in himself, for the ragged looking man posted outside the ward was scowling at her, as she fidgeted indecisively outside her father's room at St. Mungo's.

She just didn't know what was waiting for her on the other side, and her heart pounded nervously in her chest as she wondered about what type of response he might have.

Would he be angry? Sad? Disappointed?

She was not sure she truly wanted to find out.

Her father had been in the hospital for three days now, but today was the first day he was allowed visitors. The Potter's had been kind enough to escort her to St. Mungo's, though they were now waiting down in the lobby. She was to face her father on her own.

"Get on with it, girl." The auror finally growled at her, magical eye swivelling over her form before rolling back in his head to peer at something else. "Before I lose my patience." He added, tone dripping in unspoken threat.

She had a feeling that Mad-Eye Moody was not the type of wizard who one would want to see lose their patience.

Efa nodded at him quickly, finally reaching for the handle on the door and giving it a sharp tug. She took a large breath and exhaled it slowly before steadying her shoulders and entering the room.

Her father lounged comfortably, propped up on a fluffy pile of pillows and with a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands, his face obscured from view behind a headline that read '_Ministry Upheaval: Chaos Abounds After Senior Official Found Dead in Diagon Alley'._

Efa positioned herself at the end of the hospital bed. Her father turned another page in the paper, unbothered by her appearance in his recovery room.

"_Tad_?" She voiced hesitantly.

Another page in the newspaper was flipped, the pages rustling loudly in the quiet room.

"_Tad_…" The fidgeting witch trailed off, wringing her hands at the foot of his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, quite well, thank you." He responded casually. "I've just been catching up on some reading, you see. There are some _very interesting_ articles in this paper."

At this, he placed the paper down, letting the copy fall flat on his lap.

"But you already knew that, didn't you?" He asked quietly.

Efa flinched, unable to meet the accusatory stare.

"A war, Efa?" He demanded unhappily, though his tone remained level. "People like us murdered left and right? Some crazy dark wizard raising an army that's so powerful that people are fleeing the country? Do you know that this morning, I said his name and my nurse ran screaming from the room?"

"I-" She tried, but her father was not keen to hear any excuses.

"And you went back, every single year, promising me that everything was fine. I was sending you off to a _warzone_ and you didn't think I deserved to know?" He asked. "Your Headmaster told me everything about what's been happening in your world, but it shouldn't have been him, Efa. It should have been _you_."

He halted, running a hand through a mop of unkempt brown curls peppered with strands of grey.

"There – there are people who don't like people like us, or the fact that I have magic." She offered a meagre explanation, shifting atop her feet. "There are people that would rather see us dead than associated with the magical world…and – and I thought you'd be safer the less you knew, and the less anyone knew _about_ you."

"Yes, I understand that." He replied immediately. "But in what universe does that make a lie of this calibre acceptable? Do you have any idea, any idea at all how worried I am for you? For us? That man in the mask, he – he said that he was going to _kill you in front of me_ once you were no longer useful…and that wasn't all he said he'd do to us."

Efa felt as though all the breath had left her body at hearing what the Death Eater had told her father.

"What else did he-?"

"I won't be repeating it." He said with strength. "But it was enough to get the point across."

The lump was there again in her throat, and she looked away from her father as she gnawed nervously at her lower lip.

"I never meant for you to get hurt, _Tad_…and I – I never meant for this to go on so long. I know that doesn't make it okay." The witch managed to choke out. "I just wanted to keep you safe, and I wanted to learn…"

Charles Hathaway shook his head.

"I have never been more disappointed in you." He stated calmly. "I've always trusted you, but you've betrayed that trust, Efa, and that's not something that's going to be easy to get back."

"I'm sorry." She breathed.

"So am I." He sighed. "I should have never sent you away to that school. When your mother was on her death bed, I promised her that I would take care of you, but what use can I be in any of this? How am I supposed to keep that promise, Efa? How am I supposed to keep my baby girl safe?"

His voice cracked, and to her horror, she saw that he had begun to blink rapidly, a few small tears leaking from his eyes.

This was the first time in her life that she had ever seen her father cry in front of her.

Horrible, horrible guilt ate at her heart, consuming her whole.

"I'm sorry-" She whispered as she ran to his side immediately, and he wrapped her in a hug that was so tight she wondered if he was worried she might just slip out of his grasp. She could feel his tears soaking into the shoulder of the set of old robes that she had borrowed from Mrs. Potter. "I'm sorry – I'm so sorry, _Tad_, I'm sorry-"

They stayed like that for some time, both succumbing to the tears and emotions that had been building up and stockpiling within their hearts over the last few days.

Eventually, with a shuddering sigh, Charles Hathaway released his daughter.

A minute or so passed as they each wiped at their eyes and contemplated what words could possibly be voiced after such a display of emotion.

It was Efa who found the words first.

"Professor Dumbledore is going to take you somewhere safe after you've completely healed." She murmured quietly.

Her father gave a weary sigh.

"He already told me. I guess I'm taking my sabbatical a little earlier than expected." He joked weakly, though neither could muster a smile. "He also said that you're going to be doing something important for him, and that you're one of the only few who could do it…"

He trailed off, the unspoken question lingering between the two of them.

Efa gave a jerky bob of the head, phrasing her response with care. She had a feeling the auror outside the door was likely listening to them on Dumbledore's orders.

"I'm not allowed to say much about it." She began looking to the door uncertainly. Her father, thankfully, seemed to catch her drift when she glanced to where the security was posted outside the wooden portal. "But I'll be working for him, I guess you could call it a mission of sorts."

"To defeat this Mouldy-vort guy?" Her father asked, and she nearly laughed, despite the starkness of the situation.

"That's the plan, though I'm not sure how anything I'll be doing will contribute to that. I doubt I'll be fighting."

"But will it be dangerous?" He demanded. "And don't even think about lying. You owe me the truth."

"Yes." She answered his suspicions, noting the frown that formed on his face in response. "Professor Dumbledore seems to think it will, and he's rarely wrong."

Her father slumped against his pillows, seeming to deflate at the information. The silence was deafening until he spoke up again.

"It's so strange to think that people your age in the non-magical world are more worried about getting accepted to university while your people are fighting a war."

"It is." Efa agreed in a small tone.

And it truly was.

If she were a muggle, she might be studying for her A Levels. She might have been seeing a normal boy, hanging out with normal friends, and doing normal things. She might be in some after school literature club, or perhaps on the Track and Field team.

But Efa was not a muggle, and such a peaceful life was something that seemed so far away from her it was laughable.

There was a war going on, and it would not leave any corner of the wizarding world untouched.

"Do you ever wish you'd never gone? That you'd stayed home and never found out about your magic?" Her father asked her then, but Efa only shook her head.

How could she?

It would have been easier, certainly, to have never been a witch or to never have come to know of the world that went unseen by most. Though however much a simpler and more peaceful life might have been appealing, it was simply not worth giving up.

She had magic in her veins, and that was something one could not easily part from. It would be the same if someone had asked her if she wished she had been born a pure-blood, for the muggle world was also something just as much a part of her as the magical – and Efa could never bring herself to part with or wish away either realities.

This was her reality, there was no use wishing otherwise, no use in daydreaming about what might have been. It was simply illogical. From now on, she would try her best to embrace both.

"No, I don't." she answered honestly. "This world is a part of me, I don't think I could ever leave it behind."

"So, you're going to go and join the fight?" He asked, a resigned sort of tone in his tired voice.

"I have to help." Affirmed Efa softly. "But I'll be under the Headmaster's protection, and so will you. He's the best bet of safety there is."

A moment passed, as her words seemed to resonate around the room, the dangerous new reality and the changes being introduced to both their lives sinking in slowly.

Everything would be different now, there could be no going back, no more pretending this conflict simply did not involve her. It seemed her father had also come to realise this as well.

"Then give them hell." Her father voiced suddenly.

Efa blinked.

"What?"

The bedridden man repeated himself quite seriously.

"Give them hell." He reiterated. "Put up a good fight, don't back down. Be strong, Efa."

"You…you're okay with this?" She asked slowly, not having expected his response given.

"Of course not." He huffed indignantly. "But I also realise you aren't a little girl anymore. You've grown, Efa, even if it took me a while to see it. You're a legal adult in your world, and you have the right to choose your own path, even if that path terrifies me. So whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability – show them that you're strong in your own way."

"I – I – yeah, okay." She finished dumbly, not having expected those words from her father. "I love you, _Tad_. I won't let you down again."

The door opened then, and a skittish looking nurse teetered inside the recovery room, glancing nervously back to where the frightening looking auror was stationed outside.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hathaway, but visiting hours are over. Your father needs his rest." She spoke in a wavering voice, motioning the young witch towards the door.

Efa rose reluctantly from her father's bedside after giving her father one last hug and a long look when she found she had no more words she could voice in that moment.

Her father spoke to her just before she exited the room, however, that familiar jovial spark once again shining in his gaze.

"Efa, love?" He called lightly, and she turned her head in acknowledgement.

"Yes?"

"When this war is over, you're grounded for a decade."


	19. Chapter 19

_January, 1978_

_._

It was a very pleasant day, considering it was January in southwest Britain.

The time of year was especially cold and wet, but this day heralded no rain and biting winds, just a thick fog and a misty sort of rain that did not completely conglomerate into thicker drops.

She supposed it might have been a nice day, if James Potter and Sirius Black had not heckled her into playing a bit of three-man quidditch – though she was not completely certain one could even call it quidditch. All they were really doing was taking turns scoring goals and laughing as Efa attempted to block the posts.

_Attempted_ was the keyword. She hadn't managed to block a single shot of the quaffle, unless one counted a poorly aimed throw by Sirius that had nearly knocked her off her broom. Efa was not entirely convinced that it had been an accident.

Needless to say, Efa was not a natural flyer.

She wobbled precariously atop her borrowed broom, an older Cleansweep model that had once belonged to Mr. Potter in his school days, not that it really mattered how old it was. Efa Hathaway was rubbish at flying no matter what model she might be perched atop.

The Welsh witch was actively avoiding looking down at the ground. Each time she caught a glance of how high up she was, she could not help but shudder. She was not one for heights.

"Alright, Hathaway! Heads up!" Called James merrily, sharing an infuriating smirk with Sirius as he sped past his adopted brother and towards the towering home-made goal post that Efa hovered uncertainly in front of. "I'll make this one an easy one, you're sure to get it!"

Efa grimaced.

_Fat chance of that happening_, she thought miserably.

This was the last time she would ever agree to play with them. She was unsure how anybody found flying and playing quidditch even remotely enjoyable.

James was closing in rapidly on the goal post, and Efa's grip tightened on her broom as she crouched a bit lower in concentration. She watched the ball leave his grasp, and used one hand to try and catch the large round ball that was hurtling towards her.

However, much to her frustration (and the immense amusement of the two Gryffindors), the moment she broke concentration on balancing and slackened her grip to reach for the ball, her broom immediately plummeted a good ten metres down in the air.

The ball sailed through the hoop that was now far above her head, and she could only groan in annoyance.

Efa hated to be bad at things, and she hated that flying was something she just could not seem to get the hang of. To her displeasure, she could hear the loud chortling of the two boys and glanced up to see that James had nearly laughed himself right off the front of his broom.

Thoroughly miffed, she nudged her broomstick as gently towards the ground as she could, though the nudge turned into a rapid descent that sent a harsh jolt through her body when her feet made rough contact with the dewy grass of the Potter's backyard.

It was only a few moments later before James and Sirius had landed as well, though with much more finesse than the disgruntled witch.

"Merlin, Hathaway." Wheezed James, still laughing at her poor attempts at quidditch. "You really weren't joking, were you?"

She scowled, dismounting her broom with a huff.

"I've seen toddlers fly better on toy brooms." Sirius smirked, but she knew better than to rise to his bait. "Best to stick to your books and other mundane things, Hathaway – leave the flying to us."

Efa was a very patient person, but it could only stretch so far.

"Academics isn't mundane." She retorted coolly, beginning after James as the trio headed towards the house, trekking up a small hill and up towards the back of the large cottage. "If you applied yourself a bit more, you'd have better marks."

"I'll do as I please, thank you." He responded airily. "You can keep your goody-goody advice to yourself."

She kept her mouth shut, knowing better than to respond. It wouldn't do any good to quarrel with him, she knew that, despite the itch she had to give him a good hex for his nasty attitude.

Besides, she had a suspicion a foul response on her end was exactly what he was trying to get out of her, to lure her into the argument it seemed he'd been wanting to have all week.

"Would you two stop your bickering?" James sighed, casting an unimpressed glance over his shoulder. "You sound like an old married couple."

Sirius scoffed and Efa made a face at the comment, though they thankfully spent the rest of their trek in relative silence.

They left their soggy shoes and outer cloaks outside before entering the warmth of the cosy home, and Efa made a beeline straight for the roaring fire in the fireplace. A sigh of contentment slipped from her chattering teeth as she plopped herself down in front of the flames and outstretched her palms to warm her stiff fingers from the chill that seemed to linger in her bones.

Winter in England and other surrounding territories was truly a dismal affair. The weather was cold and rainy for months on end, and the damp chill never truly left – it seemed to cling to one's skin and seep into every article of clothing.

The weather of the season seemed to match her mood, which only made things worse.

It had only been days since she'd found her father and seen that dreadful skull and snake in the sky above her childhood home, and that was not an experience easily forgotten. Efa felt she'd hardly slept a wink since that night, too wary of the nightmares that would come if she allowed herself to drift off. She'd slept quite fitfully over the last few days in the guest bedroom, tossing and turning throughout anxiety-riddled nights.

"Oh, you poor dears!" Exclaimed Mrs. Potter, bustling into the sitting room with steaming mugs of tea on a tray. The charmed tea pot floated in behind her. "Warm up with a cuppa before you catch your death!"

"Any biscuits, mum?" Asked James hopefully, but Mrs. Potter shook her head sternly.

"Oh, yeah – have you got any more of those ginger ones we bought in muggle London?" Sirius added.

"No, boys, you'll spoil your appetite for lunch." She replied before turning to Efa with a warm smile. "Efa, love, would you care for some biscuits with your tea? I put two on your saucer."

"Injustice!" Cried James.

"Yes, well, she's a guest and you two haven't even started your winter homework yet." Mrs. Potter replied in Efa's defence. "Biscuits are for boys who do their homework. Efa's already finished all hers, haven't you, dear?"

Efa gave a hesitant nod at the babying tendencies, and James gave another sigh of exasperation, taking the tea most ungratefully from his mother's tray. The older witch left with one last kind smile towards her guest.

"You'd think that Hathaway was her child and not me." Grumbled James.

Efa, on the other hand, ate her ginger flavoured biscuits in quiet contentment.

They sipped on their tea near the fire place, the two boys launching into a conversation about their next term's worth of quidditch practices and Efa allowing her thoughts to wander as she tuned them both out and enjoyed her biscuits and milky tea.

She hardly even noticed when Sirius got up from his seat to go and let an owl in from the window and unfurl their day's subscription to the Daily Prophet.

It was only when Sirius scoffed and tossed the paper into her lap, causing her tea to slosh onto the enchanted picture of the front page, that she finally dragged herself from her thoughts to stare in open astonishment at the article.

It was her face on the cover of the _Daily Prophet_.

Her picture looked worried, frightened perhaps. The Efa on the front page of the Prophet had her brows drawn together nervously, and her eyes flit about, as if on the lookout for unseen foes or threats.

The title read: "_Miraculous Tale: Muggle-Born Witch and Father Survive Attack by Death Eaters_".

Efa's eyes widened in horror at the first words of the article.

She had known, of course, that the farce was up and that she could no longer pretend to be a half-blood. She had known that after her father was attacked it would only be a matter of time before the news spread.

She had just hoped her secret being exposed would not have involved her face plastered on top of every family's newspaper from Glasgow to London. Her breath caught in her throat as she began to read.

'_Efa Hathaway, a muggle-born student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is now among the very few victims to survive an attack by the Death Eaters. At eight-fifteen in the evening, in a muggle neighbourhood in Cardiff, the Ministry was alerted to the presence of the Dark Mark cast above the smouldering remains of the Hathaway household._

_It was initially assumed that both the witch and her father were deceased. However, the Ministry was alerted hours later by the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore, that the witch had taken her father and apparated to a safe location._

_Head auror of the investigative squad refused to give any comments of the whereabouts and health of the witch and her father, and it is uncertain at this time how they managed to escape or where they may be hiding. No comments were given as to whether it is suspected that Miss Hathaway was under the influence of the Imperius Curse. For more on this miraculous tale, turn to page sixteen for details and an exclusive interview on the subject of Miss Hathaway from her fellow prefect and most dear friend, Antonius Bennett_-"

Efa folded the paper slowly, not finding the strength to read anything about what Antonius might have blabbered on about in his interview. No doubt he would have been happy to play the role of a distraught and worried friend, despite hardly knowing a thing about her.

If her mood had not been gloomy before, it certainly was now.

The newspaper article had announced her blood status to everyone, and she was not certain she had the courage to face her fellow students now that the cat was out of the bag and she was exposed.

A horrible sense of dread began to wind its way around her heart, and she cast her gaze into the burning logs. She'd made her bed, and now she would have to lay in it. She had no one to blame but herself.

"I s'pose you're pleased then?" Asked Sirius, eyeing her harshly from his spot lounging casually on the sofa.

Efa glanced towards him, gaze narrowing despite her attempt at steeling her reaction.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked quietly, knowing that she was playing right into his hand.

He sneered in response, lip curling at her as if he had smelled something remarkably foul.

"C'mon, Hathaway. You've made the front page. Shall I ask you for your autograph?"

Her patience could only go so far before it stretched itself too thin, and at that moment, the last strand broke.

"Only if you'll give me yours too." She quipped, ignoring the more rational part of her mind that begged her to just walk away and ignore him. "Because I seem to remember that it was _your_ face on all the papers last summer after you ran away. Now that was quite the scandal, wasn't it?"

His eyes widened at her retort, before narrowing dangerously as he pushed himself up from the sofa and stepped into her vicinity. Efa rose as well, now too far in to back down and admit defeat.

"Yes, but at least I wasn't a _coward_-" He spat angrily, neck flushing in his outburst. "I never lied, I never hid and let others face challenges I should have been facing too. I'm not like you, Hathaway, so don't you stand there and try to compare our situations."

"Sirius, Efa, stop it-" James said sharply, but he went ignored by both of them.

"Yes, I'm a coward – I know that!" She exclaimed, feeling her own anger rising to match his. "But you never had anyone to protect, did you? I did what I felt was best to protect myself and my father, whether it was right or wrong."

"That's no excuse! Did you ever consider how other muggle-borns were suffering while you just sat back and watched them struggle? You haven't got a shred of dignity, have you?" He accused, voice rising. "How are we supposed to trust you with our lives in this war if all you've ever done is lie and fraternize with the enemy?"

"Dumbledore trusts her, Padfoot-" James tried again, only to go unheard.

"'_Fraternize with the enemy_?'" Efa repeated, now feeling her blood running hot in her veins. "I don't know what you're on about-"

"Oh, don't think none of us have noticed how friendly you've gotten with my brother! Do you honestly think he hasn't got anything to do with Voldemort?" Efa flinched at the name, unable to help herself. "I know Regulus, he's a nasty little prat who practically worships the Dark Arts! He's just like the rest of them-"

"The rest of your _family_, you mean?" She asked, and his face twisted at her words. "And yes, I _am_ friends with Regulus, though I don't see how that's any of your concern. You like to think you're so high and mighty for running away, but you're not so different from them. You're a bully with prejudices of your own, Sirius, and fighting for the Order won't change that!"

"Don't you _dare!" _He shouted. "Don't you dare try and tell me anything when you've never lived what I've lived! You're nothing but a damn coward and a liar, Hathaway, and your father paid the price for it! Who knows, maybe it was your friend Regulus who did it!"

Efa's eyes flashed, and though she knew better than to say what she said next, she could not help the sense of satisfaction that seeing Sirius Black's face contort in a rage brought her.

"Even if he had, he'd still be a better man than _you_-"

Sirius moved first, but Efa was quick to respond after seeing his hand make a sudden movement.

In less than a second, the two had their wands drawn and pointed angrily at each other, both looking positively enraged. James jumped up immediately, saying something to try and knock some sense into the two of them, but Efa's blood pounded so loudly in her ears that she did not hear him.

Sirius Black had been pushing her around for years, goading and bullying and bothering her – all the while knowing he could get away with it because she was too timid to make a stand.

Well no more, she decided then and there. He would learn that she was not going to take it any longer. If it was a duel he wanted, then it was a duel he would receive, despite the voice of reason that screamed at her to stow away her wand. She ignored it.

She also ignored the fact that he was a better dueller and she was a guest in this house.

It was not until a very loud casting of the disarming spell came from a newcomer in the doorway that either of them tore their rabid gazes from each other to the auror who had just arrived.

"_Expelliarmus!" _The gravelly voice cast successfully, and both their wands flew from their hands.

Efa and Sirius both paused in surprise, looking towards Alastor Moody, who looked immensely displeased at having walked in on the situation he had just diffused. Neither boy nor girl spoke.

"There's enough fighting going on out there to be fighting amongst ourselves. Now go get your wands and put them away. Now!" He growled, and his tone was so menacing that both Efa and Sirius scrambled immediately for their wands and complied with his order while James looked on in a stupor.

"You – girl. With me." He barked, and Efa stood straight as a rod at being addressed and beckoned. "And you, boy, keep that temper in check. I'll report it to Albus if you pull your wand so carelessly again."

He turned abruptly, vanishing back out the door as quickly as he came.

Efa spared one last glare towards Sirius, which was returned in equal fervour, though not daring to linger any longer and following the battered looking auror out the door of the sitting room, down a flight of stairs, and into the kitchens.

The man had taken a seat at the old wooden table next to a coal burning stove, and gestured impatiently at her to seat herself as well. She did so immediately.

"I'll skip the pleasantries and tell you why I'm here." He grunted at her, magical eye swivelling briefly towards the door they had just entered before settling back on her form, apparently satisfied with what he had seen through the walls. "Dumbledore wants me to teach you how to put up mental barriers, says he thinks that whoever found out about the offer he's made you is probably a student using a form of advanced legilimency or mental possession. I'm here to make sure you know how to defend your mind."

"Is he sure it's a student-" She started her question, only to be cut off immediately.

"Of course he is, you silly girl. Don't interrupt me again." He groused, and Efa clamped her mouth shut as he continued. "Now, I'll only be able to teach you some basics before you return to school, but Dumbledore'll be taking over once you get back. You're to take this seriously, and to do exactly as I say. We've a week and a half until you're on that train and on your own, and I intend to have you at least somewhat prepared. I'll be coming by every day. Do you have any questions?"

"I –" Efa floundered a moment at the bombardment of information before getting her mind on track. The man was certainly blunt. "Do you think it's likely that someone will try to take information from my mind?"

He only made a small grunt, and she was unsure as to how it ought to be interpreted.

"We wouldn't be here right now if the suspicion wasn't there, girl." He stated. "'Constant vigilance', that's what I always say. You'll need to be on your guard, physically and mentally, at all times. Trust no one, do you understand? Not even your friends – especially not your friends."

"Yes sir." She replied steadily.

The man gave a nod.

"Good. Now get ready-"

"What, now?" Efa asked in surprise.

"Yes, _now_." He replied gruffly. "And don't interrupt me. We have limited time as it is, and I won't have it wasted listening to a snivelling student who can't follow directions. Now prepare yourself, girl, and focus on keeping your thoughts under lock and key-"

The man raised his wand and Efa scrambled mentally to try and do whatever she might be able to prepare herself for what came next.

Though try as she might, there was nothing that could have ever prepared her for the moment reality slipped away from her, and the man known as Alastor Moody entered her mind.

.

* * *

.

"Again." Moody's voice called out as the kitchen came back into focus.

Efa blinked rapidly with a loud gasp that rang throughout the kitchen. A house elf named Mitsy who was bound to the Potter family looked upon her with wide-eyed sympathy as her spindly little hands placed a shepherd's pie into the oven to begin cooking for dinner.

"Eyes on me, girl. Nevermind the elf, pay attention." He said sternly, raising his wand towards her again.

"Please, can't we take a break?" Efa begged, legs shaking as she remained seated while the auror towered over her.

Her vision was still swimming from the last attempt, and she felt quite sure she might soon be driven to empty the contents of her stomach upon his feet.

This was day five of her training at the hands of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.

The auror was a sharp and strong invading presence inside of her mind, and it _hurt_. It hurt like hell to have her mind and memories pried open and dragged about within her psyche, over and over again.

It felt as though he was everywhere at once yet nowhere at all within her conscious. It was foreign, wrong, and left her feeling violated after the older man ripped through her memories at a dizzying speed until her mind felt like it might just burst.

She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

No doubt the whole house had heard her yelps and exhausted grunting over the last week as her mind and magic was pushed to the limit, and she knew that the two boys had seen how her nose bled so heavily when she stumbled out of the kitchens after each session with Moody.

Sirius, however, continued to prod at her, and she found that her patience was all but non-existent after her hours spent practicing with the auror. The two of them had been bickering non-stop for the last few days since their row, neither backing down and both eyeing each other angrily when they were not snapping at each other.

"Oh, you think a Death Eater is going to let you have a little break while he's torturing you for information or trying to break down your mind? I suppose you think he'll offer you tea and biscuits while you take a respite?" He spat, jabbing his wand towards her forehead.

"No, sir…" She mumbled, looking to the side.

"Now get ready. Clear your mind and close your eyes, focus on your mental shields…that's it, good, good. Deep breath now-" He muttered as the witch followed his instructions. "_Legilimens-"_

Efa faded from reality, thrusted forward into a dimension that neither made sense nor seemed to follow any rules of logic.

She could feel him, probing harshly at her shields, his attempts growing stronger and stronger the more she resisted his tries at overcoming the walls in place around her mind. Those walls were simply not strong enough, however, and they soon began to crack.

A crack here, a crack there – and then they crumbled.

_Efa and her father laughed merrily as a wave crashed over their little sail boat, the duo pulling at the ropes that controlled the sails that extended outward from the mast and boom. The sun was shining but the sea was cold_.

_A_ _bouquet of flowers was placed down upon a gravestone of Morwenna Rosenberg-Hathaway, and a young Efa placed a pebble atop a grave that bore a star of David on the marble_.

_Efa and Professor Flitwick stood before the wand maker. A rush of magical sensation coursed through her body as a wand made of silver birch and dragon heartstring seemed to pulse in her grasp, becoming one with the magic that flowed through her veins_.

_Blood on the floor, pooling around her father's broken body and smeared onto the wall as the Dark Mark reflected on the window pane. Terror, heartbreak, fear, and horror boiled up her throat along with the bile_.

_Gwyn's crumpled form lay motionless on the quidditch pitch_.

_Regulus was smiling at her._

_Remus reached for her hand at their table at the Three Broomsticks_.

"_Push harder_." She heard Moody's voice in her head. "_Focus on locking down what you're seeing – grasp it and hold it tight – push me back out, give it your all_-"

Efa pushed, focusing on the invading presence within her mind and giving a harsh shove. She could feel his displeasure at her attempt.

"_You aren't trying hard enough!"_ He snarled, voice seeming to echo about her. "_You'll need to do better, girl!"_

She pushed again, drawing upon every last bit of strength that remained available to her to force him back out, to clear her mind of his horrible presence and to build her barriers up once more.

Efa groaned and slumped forward, panting harshly and feeling the tell-tale wetness under her nostrils that indicated her nose had begun to bleed from the exertion once more. Her head was spinning, and she did not dare try to open her eyes, for she was sure she might retch.

"Good!" Boomed Moody, the closest thing to happy or satisfied that she had ever heard from him. "Now, we'll do it one more time so you can practice pushing me out again-"

But there would be no more practicing for today. Efa had reached her limit, and the very last of her strength gave way.

She fell straight off the edge of her chair and hardly felt it when her body made contact with the cold, hard wood of the kitchen floor. She was too tired now to even try opening her eyes.

"On second thought…" He trailed off, not sounding the least bit abashed at having contributed to her current state. "Potter! Black! Yes, I can see you hiding behind that door trying to listen, come in then!"

She heard the door open, but could not find the strength to lift her head. Every bit of her body hurt.

"Mad-Eye – er – I mean Mr. Moody," James tripped over himself. "What are you two practicing? Don't we deserve to know too? We'll be members in the Order come June-"

"Ask me one more time and I'll hex your lips permanently shut. Dumbledore's orders, don't question them." He growled. "Now take her up to bed and make sure that elf brews her up a hearty restorative draught because we'll be back at it again in the morning. Am I clear?"

A moment later, she felt two pairs of arms hoisting her up, and her nose dribbled blood onto borrowed clothes and plopped on the floor as they dragged her forward. Somewhere, in the back of her ravaged mind, she felt a keen sense of guilt that the poor house-elf was stuck cleaning up the blood, and she hoped that she had not stained the pretty wooden floors of the Potter's home.

Up the stairs, around the corner, and into the guest bedroom – and then Efa was then deposited roughly onto a quilted twin bed by a foggy window.

"I can try to stop the bleeding if you want, Hathaway?" James asked, peering over her face in interest. "It shouldn't be too hard. Mind you, I haven't tried it on any humans yet…"

"Go ahead." She gave her permission quietly, figuring that with his talents in spellwork that it couldn't be too hard a task for him.

She cracked her eyes just in time to see Sirius' frowning face and James Potter's wand jab at her nostril.

"_Percuro." _He recited, and Efa felt the strangest sensation spreading over her nose, almost as if somebody had slathered the insides of her nostrils with petroleum jelly. "Oh…oops. Is it supposed to do that?"

"Oops?" She repeated, looking towards his face worriedly.

Sirius heaved a dramatic sigh, pushing James out of the way with a frown.

"Oh, get out of the way." He bit crossly, taking his own wand out from his clothing and pointing at her next. _"Percuro."_

At once, the strange sensation vanished, and the scent of iron in her airways dissipated.

"You've got to add the flick at the end with your wand or it won't work." He mumbled to James, who nodded along. "That one came in handy when I was growing up."

In a small moment of horror, Sirius seemed to realise what he'd just said, and shut his mouth with an audible snap. Her gaze lingered on him, her mind once again pondering just how horrid a childhood in Grimmauld Place might have been.

She felt the guilt then, as she recalled the foul words the two of them had exchanged days prior.

"Sirius…I should apologise for what I said when I was angry." Said Efa. "It wasn't kind."

He surveyed her a moment, gaze unreadable as he responded. The way his features remained pinched, however, indicated that he had read between the lines and figured out she was only apologising for being unkind, and not taking back anything that she had said.

Because, at the end of the day, Efa truly _did_ believe that Regulus was a better man than him. She would not take that back, because she believed it to be fact.

It seemed that Sirius recognised that as well, which did not look as though it was boding over with him positively.

"I don't trust you." He announced, and James looked as though he were about to say something before Sirius continued. "But I shouldn't have said what I did."

It was not an apology, which Efa was quick to recognise.

An awkward and terse silence stretched between them as they both stared each other down. It was James who broke that silence with an exasperated plea.

"Look, you two." He stated with his lips set in a grim line. "We can't afford to be divided right now. Padfoot, Dumbledore trusts Hathaway and we're supposed to be working together. Stop goading her. Efa, whatever it is you're doing for the Order, you have to be truthful about everything from now on so we know we can trust you. All our lives are on the line, we have to know we can trust each other."

Both Sirius and Efa stared at him, neither finding words to reply to his scathing reprimand.

"And for the love of Merlin's overgrown ear hair-" James continued. "Both of you need to stop bickering with each other because whether you like it or not, we're all on the same side and working towards the same goal. So, get over yourselves and act like adults."

If she had heard this from James Potter just a year ago, she might have scoffed and not believed such words could have ever come from his mouth.

For as long as Efa had known him, James Potter had been a self-assured, cocky, and arrogant young man. He'd taken pleasure in chasing after girls, hexing other students for fun, and causing mayhem just because he could. He was a trouble-maker, a rabble-rouser.

But he had changed, she had seen it first-hand.

Some things, like his tendency to pick on others or assert himself over his fellow students, had not changed – but Efa could tell that he had grown, matured, and come to see sense about the ways of the world.

So much had changed since that first day on the Hogwarts Express.

They really weren't children any longer, Efa thought to herself with a sombre attitude. No, they weren't children at all. They were _soldiers_.


	20. Chapter 20

_January 1978_

_._

'_Miraculous Survival: Muggle-Born Witch and Father Survive Attack by Death Eaters'_

The title of the Daily Prophet seemed much bolder and more eye-catching than any other article that Regulus Black had ever read.

He normally cared very little for the mundane ramblings of the most popular newspaper in magical Britain, but today's issue he found he simply could not ignore.

He sat quite still atop his bed, the covers and pillows strewn about from a night of restless sleep filled with disturbing dreams and the fading ache of his right forearm. He hadn't slept well for many days now, the stress of being home and all the things that involved ate at him even as he attempted to rest.

The house had been quiet for Christmas, just he and his mother.

His father's whereabouts remained a mystery to them, and Sirius was likely off gallivanting with blood-traitors and rebels while Regulus was left to pick up all the pieces of their broken household.

There were times he felt it unfair, but it was now habit that he would remind himself that life was unfair in general and continue in his duties without complaint.

Things had taken a turn for the worst after their last meeting, however. He'd hardly slept a wink since seeing Rabastan's wicked smile before the boy left to go and find the girl and her father on Bellatrix's orders. It was a raw sort of guilt that ate at him, night and day.

He knew it had to be done, and he knew that he had no say in the matter – but knowing this brought him little peace. In fact, he found it made the horrible sensation worse. He felt helpless, and that was not a feeling he relished. To be helpless meant that one was without the power to change their situation or that of others, and power was something he was keenly aware he currently lacked.

He glanced again towards the title page of the paper that Kreacher had brought him, another rush of conflicted emotions bubbling over within him.

And that _picture_, that horrible picture. She looked so frightened. He wondered if that was how she had looked when Rabastan Lestrange wreaked his havoc upon her home and family. He wasn't sure he wanted to think about it, and he had little desire to know what methods that the younger Lestrange brother might have employed to evoke such fright.

He stomach rolled, and he felt glad to have skipped breakfast again. How would he ever look her in the eye?

He reached for the article again, reading over it for what was likely the tenth time that morning, letting his eyes scan over the words and occasionally flick back towards the girl's picture on the front page. One word out of all of it, however, seemed to stand out as though it had been printed in bold and underlined.

…Muggle-Born?

But surely the papers had to be wrong, it would not be the first time. She had said it herself, after all – she was a half-blood, the daughter of a squib and a witch. She'd told him herself, hadn't she?

Though, he reasoned with himself sharply, it would not be the first case where a witch or wizard had lied about their heritage…but to think she was even further beneath him than he had originally thought, a _mudblood…_It made him bristle in indignation.

She was so talented, though – how could that be true?

_So is Lily Evans. _He reminded himself darkly. _It's possible._

He would simply have to ask her himself, he made the decision then. However, the end result would not change in the slightest if she confirmed what the papers said. The Dark Lord would still be interested in her, and she would still be a valuable asset to their cause. At least there was that.

The only thing that would really change was…

Regulus frowned to himself, unable to find the words needed to finish his thought.

What would change if the stories in the paper were true? He supposed the only thing that would really change would be the fact that he would not be able to continue any sort of relationship with her after she was inducted into their ranks. Such a relationship would lower his status, no matter how talented she was.

That thought brought even more conflicting emotions about.

He could truly say that he enjoyed her company, and he hoped, perhaps selfishly, that she was not muggle-born, so that he would not have to cut her out of his life.

As it stood, she was the only thing even remotely pleasant in his life, and he did not want to give that up.

He did not want to give _her_ up.

She was kind, resourceful, brilliant, and soft – not soft in the ways that were physically appeasing to the eye (though she had that as well), but the girl had a kind of peaceful stillness to her that calmed his very soul. He enjoyed being around her, he looked forward to it, even.

If it turned out that she truly was born of muggles, their budding relationship would need to be snubbed, and it would be expected of him to have the sense to treat her as what she truly was: _filth_.

But try as he might, he could not bring the word 'filth' to his tongue as he recalled her soft smile to his mind's eye. The word and the image simply did not match.

He sounded like a damn blood-traitor.

That thought rattled him deeply, and in a small fit he crumpled the newspaper angrily and threw it straight into his fireplace with a snarl of discontent.

Regulus watched with a firmly set jaw as the photo of Efa Hathaway caught fire and blackened quickly, the image of the young woman who haunted his thoughts reduced to ash by hot flames.

.

* * *

.

A bead of sweat trickled down flushed skin that stretched over sharp cheekbones, meandering past damp strands of black hair that were plastered to a face twisted in concentration, and finally slipping underneath the fabric of a posh, high-collared tunic.

His outer-robes had been discarded carelessly on the wet grass outside Malfoy Manor, and though the air was frigid and damp, he was beginning to feel much too hot underneath his well-tailored clothing.

Regulus blocked a jinx that had been shot towards him with nearly effortless ease, the jet of yellow light shooting off to the side and into a forested grove. They were sending spell after spell, hardly allowing each other any semblance of respite between blocking the well-aimed hexes, curses, and jinxes.

A pause on Lestrange's end, just enough time to send a leg-locking jinx sailing towards the older boy. It was blocked, and a wordless curse was shot back at him, which Regulus side stepped before parrying with another hex.

Both young men were sweating profusely, neither willing to admit defeat or be the one to call for a break to their duelling. When it came to the art of duelling, even in practice, a spar or battle was only won once an opponent had been killed – or in their case, as they were only practicing, immobilised.

Antonin Dolohov paced the length between them off to the side, his hollow-looking dark eyes flitting quickly as he watched the two practice, occasionally calling a reprimand or tip, but remaining silent for the most part.

Out of all their student recruits, Regulus and Rabastan were the best when it came to duelling, and the two had been tasked with refining their skills under the watchful eye of Dolohov whilst the winter holidays came to a close.

They all had their talents, of course.

Vance Mulciber was excelling quickly in his practice with the Imperius Curse. Evan Rosier was able to alter his appearance in a moment's notice with superb transfiguration skills. Hadrian Avery had a large repertoire of the darkest curses that had no counter-curses. Severus Snape was excellent in just about anything he put his mind to. Gregory Wilkes and his younger sister Georgiana were both proficient in the healing arts. Corban Yaxley had a mind for strategy.

Rabastan Lestrange had mastered all three unforgivables and was efficient at torturing for information or duelling. The younger Lestrange brother also, as Regulus had only recently come to know, was decent enough at mental possession to siphon important information out of the minds of his victims without being noticed.

Regulus Black was excellent in duelling. He had learned from both his father and Bellatrix from a young age – and Bellatrix had learned straight from the Dark Lord himself. He was also a fast thinker, quick on his feet and able to anticipate his opponent's moves before they were made. Even Lestrange had a hard time when up against the Black heir. Few of his peers had ever managed to best him.

They were immensely accomplished for most wizards their age, and each of them took pride in their various skills and talents, spending hours refining themselves so that they might curry favour with the Dark Lord by being of use to him. Regulus was no different.

The sooner that Regulus was able to gain favour, the sooner he would be on track to restoring his family and bringing glory to his ancestral lineage.

And so, he fought with fervour, a sort of primal aggression mixed with precise and calculative movements of magic, volleying back and forth with his duelling partner in a show of strength and purpose.

There were many ways that Rabastan Lestrange liked to make a show of flaunting his superiority in different areas to Regulus – but not in this area. This was one area where Regulus was not to be outmatched.

The two boys had been rivals even as children and had never gotten along. Rabastan had a knack for pushing and prodding, and had been a terror of a child growing up. If Regulus were being honest with himself, he felt he could safely say that not much had changed as the boy had matured into a man.

Rabastan's face was twisting into a scowl now, one of the very few times the Slytherin pure-blood ever allowed his true emotions to showcase on his face.

_Good_, thought Regulus with a smug sense of pride. It felt nice knowing that the Lestrange brother was frustrated that he could not best his opponent. Though, if the Black heir knew anything about Rabastan at all, it was that the boy was a sore loser. He would surely find a way to get back at Regulus, and that thought made the young prefect wary.

At last, after what was almost an hour of continuous duelling, Regulus saw an opening to end things to his favour.

Rabastan had faltered in his footing, and Regulus had not missed the small stumble that put the young man off his balance. He seized the opportunity immediately, sending a particularly foul strangling hex towards the young man's right side, which was the side he was favouring after nearly losing balance.

The hex hit him on his right shoulder, knocking his opponent off his feet and sending him out of the bounds they had established for their duel.

Antonin Dolohov's eyes shone with approval, though the older wizard said nothing as Regulus crossed the space between him and Lestrange to cast the appropriate counter-hex.

As much as Regulus might have liked to watch Rabastan Lestrange choke on his own enlarged tongue, and though the image of seeing him rolling around on the grass and clutching at his throat and now purple face brought him immense pleasure, he knew he had to reverse his hex. He had a sinking suspicion there would be hell to pay if he let the young man die.

A pity, really.

With a lamenting sigh, he cast the counter-hex, and Dolohov gave him a sharp nod before turning tail and striding back towards the manor, black robes billowing behind him. It was just the two of them now.

Lestrange staggered as he rose to his feet, and Regulus could not help the cool air of condescending triumph that showed on his features. The defeated wizard's face contorted into a nasty sneer, lips curling in a silent snarl as he saw how Regulus quietly gloated.

"Next time I'll make you pay for that." He promised, an uncharacteristic look of anger marring his normally composed and haughty features.

"Perhaps." Regulus allowed with a sneer of his own. "Or perhaps next time I'll just let you die. Merlin knows I could use some entertainment."

With that, he turned coolly, intending to go and gather his now soggy robes before heading back inside as well to discuss the duel with Dolohov and see what areas he could stand to improve upon. Lestrange, however, had no intention of letting him return so easily after being slighted.

"Too bad you couldn't have come with me to see your pretty little mudblood, then." The man called after him, dropping his bait. "Because that was plenty _entertaining_-"

Regulus stopped in his tracks, all feelings of triumph melting away in an instant.

It was both strange and slightly maddening that a few words regarding one person could invoke such a cold sense of rage inside his body.

"I had a nice little _chat_ with her father…I suppose you'll have seen the Prophet though." He continued, that infuriating tone of nonchalance once again present. "She has a lovely scream, I hope to hear it again sometime very soon-"

Regulus turned, expression murderous.

"If you value your life, you'll shut your mouth." He warned, voice dropping dangerously.

But apparently the young man had little value for his life, or perhaps did not take such threats very seriously, for he continued.

"Did you know she was a mudblood? I knew of course, I even tried to warn you." He taunted. "But no matter, I made sure she learned her place."

"Enough, Lestrange-"

Regulus approached rapidly, placing himself so close to the young man that he could see the shadowy stubble over his jawline, but Rabastan was not to be intimidated.

"How does it feel, to know you've been _friendly_ with that kind of filth? You've sunken quite low, little Regulus - but that's all right, we're all allowed our dalliances. Like father, like son, right?" He whispered in glee, taking pleasure in the response he was evoking. "When you've had your fun and finished with her, maybe I'll have mine too-"

Regulus reacted before he could stop himself.

A loud crack resounded as his fist made contact with Rabastan's jaw.

The boy crumpled, and a sharp pain radiated up Regulus' wrist, but he was unbothered by it in that moment. Rabastan clutched at his face, staring up in shock at the unexpected action that any self-respecting pure-blood would never have taken.

Common brawling was for muggles and muggle-lovers, or so they had been told since childhood. Duels were for the refined sophistication of the magical world and the pure-bloods who inhabited it.

It only took a few seconds before Rabastan gathered his wit and responded.

In little to no time at all, the two boys were exchanging physical blows, their wands forgotten for the time being. Punches, hooks, jabs, kicks – they had shed their proper airs and had resulted to grunting and snarling as they rolled about and attempted to cause as much harm as they possibly could with their own hands.

The two were on the quidditch team, which meant a naturally stronger disposition from the level of fitness it took to be able to play and maintain balance at all times. They were well-matched, and it showed.

A strong hook from Rabastan sent Regulus to the ground when he heard a horrid crunching sound as his nose took the brunt of the blow. The red that began to pour from the broken nose was nothing compared to the red that Regulus was seeing as a result.

Who cared if there would be hell to pay later – Regulus wanted to kill him in that moment of heated emotion, and it seemed that Rabastan was of the same mind.

There were arms now, arms that had arrived quite suddenly and pulled him back. Regulus vaguely noted that there were also arms attempting to restrain Rabastan as well. Those arms, though it took him a few moments to make the connection in his enraged state, belonged to Dolohov and Rodolphus.

As quickly as the brawl had started, the two older Death Eaters had ended it.

Rodolphus was hissing something into his younger brother's ear, something that, even though the words were too low to make out, sounded like an angry lecture. Antonin Dolohov spoke as well, dropping his voice so that only Regulus could hear it, the thickly accented words of wisdom both a warning and an empathetic statement.

"Calm down, boy." Growled Dolohov in a low tone, sounding every bit the exasperated baby-sitter he likely viewed himself as. "Lestrange is a nasty little brat, but you can't afford to lose your temper. The Dark Lord expects better."

At that, Regulus stopped fighting the older man's hold, though the rage remained. Dolohov released him once he was sure that Regulus would not be swinging any more fists.

"Up to the manor – we'll talk about your duel, the one _with _wands." He emphasized, giving the younger wizard a harsh shove on the back in an attempt to steer him away from Rabastan, who was grinning at Regulus with teeth made bloody from a split lip. "I've got a curse-breaking method you ought to learn as well."

Regulus followed in silent obedience, though not without one last glare towards the younger Lestrange, who only continued to grin at him.

Rabastan Lestrange had a very special knack for turning his losses into victories, and Regulus was furious that he had allowed himself to be baited by such a simple trick. He would need to do better in the future not to let things like that faze him. Emotions were weaknesses, and Rabastan Lestrange would no doubt exploit said weaknesses to his advantage, of this he had no doubt.

Regulus had won the duel, but as he trudged up towards Malfoy Manor, with his nose throbbing and bleeding and his angry pulse pounding in his ears, he felt as if he had not won anything at all.

.

* * *

.

"You've got your owl?"

"Yeah-"

"And your school books, they've been packed?"

"You _watched_ me pack them, Mum-"

"What of the new quills I gave you, have you got those tucked away?"

"Yes, now can we-"

"Enough changes of underpants-?"

"_Mum!"_

Efa had to bite the insides of her cheeks and look away as James Potter's face reddened while his mother fret over him and Sirius. Both boys had been heckled the entire trip from Godric's Hollow to King's Cross, as Mrs. Potter asked after just about every little thing one could think to ask after. Both boys looked to be about at their wit's end, and had taken to looking longingly at the shining red steam engine.

Winter holidays were over, and Efa was happy to finally have them behind her. She was, of course, grateful for the safety and temporary home that Mr. and Mrs. Potter had afforded her, but she was relieved to be leaving for school once more.

The last few weeks had undoubtedly been the hardest of her life thus far.

With her father attacked, her childhood home lost, the excruciating training of her mind in such a short and condensed period of time, and the fact that she had accepted a mission that would no doubt place her exactly where she had never wanted to be (that is to say, noticed and involved in the war), she was worn out – physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Moody's training had drained her – so much so that her body felt as though she were dragging along. Her mind felt sharper than it had ever been, though, even though she now dealt with daily migraines and a head that felt like it never ceased its throbbing. Her nose often bled on and off throughout the day as well. Her body had simply been put through too much.

It was, she assumed, the effects of the rigorous mental training that the auror had put her through on Dumbledore's orders.

Such magical training was in no way meant to be condensed and practiced so intensely. As she understood it, what had been squeezed into a short two weeks was normally spread out over a few months. If it had been anyone other than an experienced and accomplished auror overseeing her training and prying her mind open again and again, it was likely there could have been some real damage done.

They did not have the luxury of time to spread out their lessons, however, and so it had been decided that her mind and body would just have to endure the pain and pressure. And she had endured it.

She understood why it was necessary, as much as it pained her to admit it. If Dumbledore was correct, and the odds were that he was, then that meant one of the students aboard their train was the one who was slipping into people's minds to glean useful information to pass on to the Dark Lord.

And if Efa was to be a container for knowledge, one that would hold secrets that could be of value to the dark wizard and his followers by extension, then her mind would need to be an impenetrable fortress _before_ she inherited that knowledge.

Even the discussion she'd had with Dumbledore the night her father was attacked would need to be guarded. It was imperative, she assumed, that the Death Eaters did not find out that Dumbledore and the Order knew about the student Death Eater stealing information and relaying it back to _You Know Who_.

Because if those dark forces believed they were going unnoticed, it would be a win for those fighting in the resistance. They would be able to plant false information, to use this link to make sure that _You Know Who _and his supporters were being fed unreliable facts.

She focused for a moment, inhaling slowly as she closed her eyes.

Efa could practically hear Moody's yelling of 'constant vigilance' in the back of her head as she checked her newly formed mental shields, drawing bits of her magic within her to strengthen them. Even as she probed them now, though, she could tell they were far weaker than what was optimal. Moody had let her cast the spell on him so that she could feel his mental shields, and where his were a fortress made of brick and mortar, hers felt more like a sand castle on the beach, susceptible to the incoming tide.

She still had a long way to go with her mental barriers, but it was a start, and it would hopefully be enough to protect her until she resumed her training in that area with Dumbledore after they arrived to the castle.

"Efa, love, your nose-"

She wrenched her eyes open at the sound of Mrs. Potter's hesitant voice, taking a handkerchief when it was offered by Mr. Potter and avoiding the gazes of the two boys who were watching her like hawks.

The witch dabbed at the blood that had begun to dribble from her nostril, wiping it away quickly.

"Thank you." She replied, stowing the handkerchief away. "For everything. I'm grateful for all you've done."

"Nonsense, you're welcome anytime." Replied Mr. Potter in a matter-of-fact tone that left no room for argument. Mrs. Potter nodded vigorously, giving the girl a quick hug.

"We've got a habit of adopting strays, you see." Mrs. Potter declared warmly, glancing towards Sirius, who rolled his eyes and hid a smile of his own. "So you needn't worry. If you ever need a home, ours is always open, dear."

Efa gave a nod of thanks, feeling a rush of gratitude towards the kind family.

"Now, off you go!" She cried, waving them towards the train. "And I'll expect regular letters from all three of you to see how you're getting on!"

They left after many more hugs and goodbyes and promises to write, dropping off their trunks for the storage compartment and finally heading up the platform and onto the passenger car.

The atmosphere of stepping aboard the train was not as she remembered it. It was colder, and it seemed to lack the warmth and comforting aura she had always felt before. Perhaps it was because her eyes had truly been opened to reality now, or perhaps it was that she was overly wary of how she would be received after the article in the Daily Prophet – either way, it was different, and not in a good way.

"You're welcome to sit with us, Hathaway." James offered quietly, and Sirius frowned at him but said nothing.

"I'd like to find Otto, actually." She mumbled, looking away from a group of Hufflepuff third years who were ogling at her from inside their compartment. "I'm sure he's worried since I couldn't send or receive any owls over holidays. I'll bet he probably tried to send a howler or two."

Efa had received no owls over their break, and had been forbidden from sending any until she returned to Hogwarts. She was unplottable now, Moody had made sure of it.

She had not known that witches and wizards could make themselves unplottable. She had heard of charms cast to make buildings and locations unplottable, that is to say, unable to be discovered, but never before had she heard of a _person_ being unplottable.

Moody had cast the charm on her – a charm that effectively made sure that no owl would ever be able to find her unless she shared a delivery location, and she had not been able to send any owls over the break, lest the Potter's owl be recognised.

"Alright then, I guess we'll be seeing you around." James stated somewhat awkwardly.

Efa did not linger. Grateful as she was for all their help, she was ready for some distance from the two boys.

She continued as they slipped into their own compartment, keeping her head ducked down as she tried to ignore the whispers that seemed to follow her.

Her head was bent so sharply to the floor that she did not notice the young man who called to her until she was directly in front of their open compartment.

"Have a nice holiday, _mudblood_?"

She skidded to a halt, turning her head sharply towards the open compartment filled with six and seventh year Slytherins, most of whom were stifling laughter now. Two or three faces looked impassive, however, and another looked towards the one who had spoken in quiet disapproval. Evan Rosier, she noted to herself.

Rabastan Lestrange was lounging quite casually from atop one of the seats, staring her down with a vicious look of pleasure. It was his voice she'd heard, she was sure of it.

A quick glance around showed that Regulus was absent from their entourage.

But she'd spent the last few weeks in the company of a broody and disinherited pure-blood, a rowdy young man, and an auror who subjected her to daily mental torture. She found that this time, she was not quite as intimidated as she normally was by people of their status and disposition.

If she could handle Alastor Moody, she could handle this little git.

"It was lovely, thank you." She responded in mild indifference, determined not to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing her upset. "That's very kind of you to ask. How was yours?"

His smirk fell a fraction, though the boy was quick to retaliate.

"It was eventful." He stated, that one word leaving much room for interpretation. "As I hear yours was. Tell me, how's daddy dearest?"

"Lestrange…" The one she recognised as Evan Rosier murmured, glancing between the two of them.

Dumbledore's warnings were fresh in her mind as she glanced about their faces.

It was entirely possible that the student who she was learning to defend her mind against sat amongst them. It was also possible that some of them could be spies for the dark wizard who waged war on their society. She also noted with displeasure that it could be anyone, not just them. Perhaps even someone much closer to her, or someone in her year or house.

"Oh, he's quite well." She responded assuredly, holding her chin higher. "He's much tougher than he looks, you see. Or maybe his attacker was just an incompetent wizard. Hard to say, really."

At this, his eyes flashed.

"Is that so?"

She did not respond, and she ignored the sets of eyes that seemed to wait on her answer.

"I asked you a question, you filthy little mudblood." He spoke again, this time with less of that casual aura and with his lips turned downwards. "I'm _waiting_."

She only returned his stare, unwilling to back down. It was unwise, she knew it – but she said it anyway.

"So is your cell in Azkaban, Lestrange."

She did not wait to see what response was had, simply continuing onward, though with a pace that was undoubtedly faster than she had held before.

Perhaps it was the little victories that won the war, she decided, as she continued down the train car in search of Otto Kaiser.

Efa checked her shields again, probing at the mental barriers gently and taking reassurance in the fact that they were still there, humming within her and drawing upon her magic to make themselves stronger.

She noted with a vague sense of satisfaction, it was not just her mental wards that felt stronger.

Despite the fact that Efa Hathaway felt as though she had been dragged through the mud and had her mind pried open with a hammer, and despite the fact that these last few weeks had been some of the most terrifying in her entire life, she felt stronger.

She could feel it bubbling up within her, the smallest of sensations that she had only just come to recognise and put a name on. Regardless of how little there was of it within her, she could feel it all the same, growing slowly and allowing her to hold her head a fraction higher.

_Courage_.

She felt courage.


End file.
